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Ef)e  &ttnteg  ILttiraru  lEUition 

ROMANCES  OF  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE 


Parts  I.  and  II. 


Eljc  ILibravg  lEUition 


THE  ROMANCES 

OF 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

Volume  VIII. 

VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE 

PART  FIRST 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  D.  SPROUL 
Publisher 


1896 


Copyright , 1888,  1893, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


Copyright,  1895, 

By  George  D.  Sproul. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.  A. 


<5  4-5"  V 
S 1*3  & 

^ g 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


The  “ Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,”  the  longest  and  in 
many  respects  the  most  powerful  of  the  D’Artagnan 
series,  was  first  presented  to  the  English-speaking 
public  in  an  unabridged  translation,  conforming  to 
the  author’s  own  arrangement  and  in  readable  form, 
by  the  present  publishers.  Owing  to  its  great 
length  it  had  previously  been  translated  only  in 
an  abridged  form.  Detached  portions  of  it,  too, 
have  appeared  from  time  to  time.  The  chapters 
devoted  to  Mademoiselle  de  la  Yallifere  have  been 
published  separately  under  the  title  of  “ Louise  de 
la  Yallibre,”  while  what  is  commonly  known  as 
“ The  Iron  Mask  ” is  a translation  of  that  portion 
of  Bragelonne  which  relates  the  attempted  substi- 
tution of  the  Bastille  prisoner  for  Louis  XIY. 

The  romance,  as  it  was  written  and  as  it  is  here 
presented  in  English,  offers  a marvellously  faithful 
picture  of  the  French  court  from  a period  imme- 
diately preceding  the  young  king’s  marriage  to  his 
cousin,  Maria  Theresa,  the  Infante  of  Spain,  to  the 


VI 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


downfall  of  Fouquet.  This  period  was  a moment- 
ous one  for  France,  embracing  as  it  did  the  diplo- 
matic triumph  of  Mazarin  in  the  advantageous 
Treaty  of  the  Pyrenees  ; the  death  of  that  avaricious 
and  unscrupulous,  but  eminently  able  and  far-seeing, 
minister  and  cardinal ; the  assumption  of  power  by 
Louis  in  person ; and  the  rise  to  high  office  and 
influence  over  the  crushed  and  disgraced  Fouquet, 
of  Jean-Bap tiste  Colbert.  These  two  years  marked 
the  beginning  of  the  most  brilliant  epoch  of  court 
life  in  France,  as  well  as  of  her  greatest,  if  some- 
what factitious,  glory  both  at  home  and  abroad. 

The  historical  accuracy  of  the  author  of  “ Brage- 
lonne  ” — which  Miss  Pardoe,  in  her  justly  popular 
and  entertaining  work  on  Louis  XI Y.,  and  the 
historian  Michelet  as  well,  have  so  strongly  main- 
tained—is  perhaps  more  striking  in  this  than  in 
any  other  of  his  romances.  It  is  not  only  in  the 
matter  of  the  events  of  greater  or  less  importance 
that  one  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  period  seems 
to  be  reading  some  contemporary  chronicle,  but  the 
character-sketches  of  the  prominent  personages  are 
drawn  with  such  entire  fidelity  to  life  that  we  seem 
to  see  the  very  men  and  women  themselves  as  they 
appeared  to  their  contemporaries. 

Thus  it  is  with  the  king,  whose  intense  egotism 
was  beginning  to  develop,  being  unceasingly  fos- 
tered by  the  flattery  of  those  who  surrounded  him 
and  told  him  that  he  was  the  greatest  of  men  and 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


Vll 


kings,  invincible  in  arms  and  unequalled  in  wis- 
dom ; wffio  was  rapidly  reaching  that  state  of  sub- 
lime self-sufficiency  which  led  to  the  famous  saying : 
“ L’Etat,  c’est  moi ; ” but  who  was,  nevertheless, 
more  bashful  and  timid  and  humble  at  the  feet  of 
the  gentle  and  retiring  La  Yallifere  than  if  she  had 
been  the  greatest  queen  in  Christendom. 

Of  his  favorites  La  Yallifere  was  the  only  one 
who  loved  him  for  himself  alone,  and  she  has  come 
down  to  us  as  one  of  the  few  Frenchwomen  who 
have  ever  been  ashamed  of  being  known  as  a king’s 
mistress.  Her  life  is  faithfully  sketched  in  these 
pages,  from  her  first  glimpse  of  the  king  at  Blois, 
when  she  gave  her  heart  to  him  unasked.  When 
the  scheme  was  formed  to  use  her  as  a cloak  for 
the  king’s  flirtation  with  Madame  Henriette,  “ there 
was  a rumor  connecting  her  name  with  that  of  a 
certain  Yicomte  de  Bragelonne,  who  had  caused  her 
young  heart  to  utter  its  first  sighs  in  Blois ; but  the 
most  malicious  gossips  spoke  of  it  only  as  a childish 
flame,  — that  is  to  say,  utterly  without  importance.” 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  made  herself  notori- 
ous as  a go-between  in  various  love  affairs,  while 
Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente,  otherwise  Made- 
moiselle de  Rochechouart-Mortemart,  clever  and 
beautiful,  was  destined,  as  Madame  de  Montespan, 
to  supplant  her  modest  friend  in  the  affections  of 
their  lord  and  master ; and  after  a career  of  unex- 
ampled brilliancy  to  be  herself  supplanted  by  the 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


viii 

governess  of  her  legitimated  children,  the  widow 
Scarron,  better  known  as  Madame  la  Marquise  de 
Maintenon. 

“ Une  maitresse  tonnante  et  triomphante,”  Madame 
de  S6vign£  calls  Madame  de  Montespan.  The  Mor- 
temart  family  was  supposed  to  be  of  the  greatest 
antiquity  and  to  have  the  same  origin  as  the  English 
Mortimers.  The  esprit  de  Mortemart , or  Mortemart 
wit,  was  reputed  to  be  an  inalienable  characteristic 
of  the  race.  And  what  of  Madame  herself,  who 
played  a part  at  the  court  of  France  which  was 
almost  exactly  duplicated  forty  years  later  by  her 
granddaughter,  the  Savoy  princess,  who  became 
Ducliesse  de  Bourgogne,  and  whose  untimely  death 
was  one  of  the  most  severe  of  the  many  domestic 
afflictions  which  darkened  the  last  years  of  the  old 
king’s  life  ? Let  us  listen  for  a moment  to  Robert 
Louis  Stevenson,  writing  of  the  “ Yicomte  de  Brage- 
lonne  ” after  his  fifth  or  sixth  perusal  of  it : — 

“ Madame  enchants  me.  I can  forgive  that  royal 
minx  her  most  serious  offences ; I can  thrill  and 
soften  with  the  king  on  that  memorable  occasion 
when  he  goes  to  upbraid  and  remains  to  flirt ; and 
when  it  comes  to  the  ‘ Allons,  aimez-moi  done,’  it  is 
my  heart  that  melts  in  the  bosom  of  De  Guiche.” 
The  mutual  passion  of  De  Guiche  and  Madame 
lasted  all  her  life,  we  are  told;  and  yet,  alas!  it  was 
but  short-lived,  for  Madame’s  days  were  numbered. 
She  died  in  1670,  after  an  illness  of  but  a few  hours, 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


IX 


regretted  by  everybody  except  her  husband.  There 
is  little  doubt  that  she  was  poisoned  through  the 
instrumentality  of  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  and 
probably  with  the  connivance  of  Monsieur,  whose 
favorite  he  was.  The  Chevalier  was  a prodigy  of 
vice,  and  one  of  the  most  unsavory  characters  of 
the  period. 

The  greed  and  avarice  of  Mazarin  were  his  most 
prominent  characteristics ; they  are  illustrated  by 
innumerable  anecdotes,  one  of  which  may  perhaps 
be  repeated  here : He  had  been  informed  that  a 
pamphlet  was  about  to  be  put  on  sale,  in  which  he 
was  shamefully  libelled ; he  confiscated  it,  and  of 
course  the  market  price  of  it  at  once  increased 
enormously ; whereupon  he  sold  it  secretly  at  an 
exorbitant  figure  and  allowed  it  to  circulate,  pocket- 
ing a thousand  pistoles  as  his  share  of  the  transac- 
tion. He  used  to  tell  of  this  himself,  and  laugh 
heartily  over  it.  His  supreme  power  had  endured 
so  long  that  everybody  desired  his  death,  and  his 
contemporaries  hardly  did  justice  to  the  very  solid 
benefits  he  had  procured  for  France. 

In  drawing  the  characters  of  Fouquet  and  Colbert, 
Dumas  has  perhaps,  as  Mr.  Stevenson  says,  shown 
an  inclination  to  enlist  his  reader’s  sympathies  for 
the  former  against  his  own  judgment  of  the  equities 
of  the  case. 

“ Historic  justice,”  says  the  essayist,  “ should  be 
all  upon  the  side  of  Colbert,  of  official  honesty  and 


X 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


fiscal  competence.  And  Dumas  knows  it  well ; three 
times  at  least  he  shows  his  knowledge,  — once  it 
is  but  flashed  upon  us  and  received  with  the  laughter 
of  Fouquet  himself,  in  the  jesting  controversy  in 
the  gardens  of  Saint-Mand^ ; once  it  is  touched  on 
by  Aramis  in  the  forest  of  Sdnart;  in  the  end  it  is 
set  before  us  clearly  in  one  dignified  speech  of  the 
triumphant  Colbert.  But  in  Fouquet — the  master, 
the  lover  of  good  cheer  and  wit  and  art,  the  swift 
transactor  of  much  business,  Vhomme  de  bruit , 
rhomme  de  plaisir , Vhomme  qui  riest  que  parceque 
les  autres  sont  — Dumas  saw  something  of  himself 
and  drew  the  figure  the  more  tenderly;  it  is  to  me 
even  touching  to  see  how  he  insists  on  Fouquet’s 
honor.” 

The  grand  fete  at  Yaux  was  the  last  straw 
which  made  the  superintendent’s  downfall  abso- 
lutely certain.  “ If  his  disgrace  had  not  already 
been  determined  upon  in  the  king’s  mind,  it  would 
have  been  at  Yaux.  ...  As  there  was  but  one  sun 
in  heaven,  there  could  be  but  one  king  in  France.” 

It  is  interesting  to  read  that  the  execution  of 
the  order  for  Fouquet’s  arrest  was  entrusted  to  one 
D9  Artagnan,  Captain  of  Musketeers,  “a  man  of 
action,  entirely  unconnected  with  all  the  cabals, 
and  who,  during  his  thirty-three  years’  experience 
in  the  Musketeers,  had  never  known  anything 
outside  of  his  orders.” 

Fouquet  lived  nearly  twenty  years  in  prison, 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


XI 


and  died  in  1680.  He  has  been  connected  in  vari- 
ous ways  with  the  “Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,” 
some  investigators  having  maintained  that  he  was 
identical  with  that  individual,  and  therefore  could 
not  have  died  in  1680;  while  others  have  claimed 
that  the  Iron  Mask  was  imprisoned  at  the  Chateau 
of  Pignerol  while  Fouquet  was  there.  The  legend 
of  the  unfortunate  prisoner  has  given  rise  to  much 
investigation  and  to  many  conjectures.  Voltaire 
bent  his  energies  to  solve  the  mystery,  and  in  our 
own  day  M.  Marius  Topin  has  gone  into  the  subject 
most  exhaustively,  but  without  reaching  a satisfac- 
tory conclusion  as  to  the  identity  of  the  sufferer. 
The  somewhat  audacious  use  made  of  the  legend 
by  Dumas  is  based  upon  what  was  at  one  time  a 
favorite  solution ; namely,  that  the  unknown  was  a 
brother  of  Louis  XIV.,  said  by  some  to  have  been 
a twin,  and  by  others  to  have  been  some  years  older 
and  of  doubtful  paternity. 

It  would  be  an  endless  task  to  cite  all  the  por- 
tions of  these  volumes  in  which  historical  facts  are 
related  with  substantial  accuracy ; in  them  fact  and 
fiction  are  so  blended  that  each  enhances  the  charm 
of  the  other,  — the  element  of  authenticity  adding 
zest  and  interest  to  the  romantic  portions,  while  the 
element  of  romance  gives  life  and  color  to  the 
narration  of  facts. 

Our  old  friends  of  the  earlier  tales  bear  us  com- 
pany nearly  to  the  end ; but  for  the  first  time, 


xii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

political  interests  are  allowed  to  interfere  with  the 
perfect  confidence  that  has  existed  between  them : 
Aramis,  as  General  of  the  Jesuits,  is  true  to  the 
reputation  of  the  order,  and  hesitates  at  no  dis- 
simulation to  gain  his  ambitious  ends.  Porthos, 
still  blindly  faithful  to  that  one  of  his  friends  who 
claims  his  allegiance,  falls  at  last  a victim  to  his 
childlike  trust  in  the  scheming  prelate,  and  dies 
the  death  of  a veritable  Titan.  The  magnificent 
outburst  of  righteous  anger  which  the  Comte  de  la 
Fbre  visits  upon  the  king  is  the  last  expiring  gleam 
of  the  spirit  of  the  Athos  of  the  Musketeers. 
Wrapped  up  in  his  love  for  the  heart-broken  Brage- 
lonne,  he  lives  only  in  his  life  and  “dies  in  his 
death.” 

And  D’Artagnan  ? His  praises  and  his  requiem 
have  been  most  fittingly  and  lovingly  sounded  by 
the  same  graceful  writer  who  has  already  been 
quoted,  and  in  the  same  essay,  entitled  “Gossip 
upon  a Novel  of  Dumas,”  — 

“ It  is  in  the  character  of  D’Artagnan  that  we  must 
look  for  that  spirit  of  morality  which  is  one  of  the 
chief  merits  of  the  book,  makes  one  of  the  main  joys 
of  its  perusal,  and  sets  it  high  above  more  popular 
rivals.  . . . He  has  mellowed  into  a man  so  witty, 
rough,  kind,  and  upright  that  he  takes  the  heart  by 
storm.  There  is  nothing  of  the  copy-book  about  his 
virtues,  nothing  of  the  drawing-room  in  his  fine  natural 
civility  ; he  will  sail  near  the  wind ; he  is  no  district 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


XIII 


visitor,  no  Wesley  or  Robespierre  ; his  conscience  is 
void  of  all  refinement,  whether  for  good  or  evil ; but 
the  whole  man  rings  true  like  a good  sovereign.  . . . 
Here  and  throughout,  if  I am  to  choose  virtues  for 
myself  or  my  friends,  let  me  choose  the  virtues  of 
D’Artagnan.  I do  not  say  that  there  is  no  character 
as  well  drawn  in  Shakespeare  ; I do  say  there  is  none 
that  I love  so  wholly.  . . .'No  part  of  the  world  has 
ever  seemed  to  me  so  charming  as  these  pages ; and 
not  even  my  friends  are  quite  so  real,  perhaps  quite  so 
dear,  as  D’Artagnan.” 

Of  the  great  closing  chapters  of  the  book,  in 
which  the  friends  are  at  last  separated  by  death, 
D’Artagnan  falling  on  the  battle-field  just  as  he 
was  about  to  grasp  the  coveted  prize  of  the  baton 
of  a marshal  of  France,  Stevenson  says : — 

“I  can  recall  no  other  work  of  the  imagination  in 
which  the  end  of  life  is  represented  with  so  nice  a tact ; 
. . . and  above  all,  in  the  last  volume,  I find  a singular 
charm  of  spirit.  It  breathes  a pleasant  and  a tonic 
sadness,  always  brave,  never  hysterical.  Upon  the 
crowded,  noisy  life  of  this  long  tale,  evening  gradually 
falls,  and  the  lights  are  extinguished,  and  the  heroes 
pass  away  one  by  one.  One  by  one  the}T  go,  and  not  a 
regret  embitters  their  departure.  The  young  succeed 
them  in  their  places.  Louis  Quatorze  is  swelling  larger 
and  shining  broader ; another  generation  and  another 
France  dawn  on  the  horizon,  — but  for  us  and  these  old 
men  whom  we  have  loved  so  long,  the  inevitable  end 
draws  near  and  is  welcome.  To  read  this  well  is  to 


XIV 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


anticipate  experience.  Ah ! if  only  when  these  hours 
of  the  long  shadows  fall  for  us  in  reality  and  not  in 
figure,  we  may  hope  to  face  them  with  a mind  as  quiet. 
But  my  paper  is  running  out ; the  siege-guns  are  firing- 
on  the  Dutch  frontier,  and  I must  say  adieu  for  the 
fifth  time  to  my  old  comrade,  fallen  on  the  field  of 
gloiy.  Adieu,  rather  cm  revoir ! Yet  a sixth  time, 
dearest  D’Artagnan,  we  shall  kidnap  Monk  and  take 
horse  together  for  Belle  Isle.” 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS 


Period,  1660-1671. 


Louis  XIV.,  King  of  France. 

Maria  Theresa,  his  Queen. 

Anne  of  Austria,  the  Queen  Mother. 

Gaston  oe  Orleans,  uncle  of  the  King. 

Duchesse  d’Orleans, 

Philippe,  Due  d’ Anjou,  brother  of  the  King,  afterwards  Due 
d’Orleans. 

Henrietta  op  England,  his  wife. 

Cardinal  Mazarin. 

Bernouin,  his  valet. 

Brienne,  his  secretary. 

M.  le  Due  de  Beaufort. 

Prince  de  Conde. 

Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  favorite  of  Philippe  d’Orleans. 
Comte  de  Saint-Aignan,  attending  on  the  King. 
Mademoiselle  Marie  de  Mancini,  niece  of  Cardinal  Mazarin. 
Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais,  I 
Mlle.  Athenaise  de  Tonnay-Charente,  i^ai  s ^0n01 


afterwards  Madame  de  Montespan, 
Mademoiselle  Louise  de  la  Valliere,  J 
La  Molina,  Anne  of  Austria’s  Spanish  nurse. 
Duchesse  de  Chevreuse. 

Madame  de  Motteville, 

Madame  de  Navailles, 

Mademoiselle  de  Chatillon, 

Comtesse  de  Soissons, 

Mademoiselle  Arnoux, 


I Henrietta,  Duchesse 
d’Orleans. 


- ladies  of  the  French  Court. 


XVI 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Louise  de  Keroualle,  afterwards  Duchess  of  Portsmouth. 
Marechal  Grammont. 


Comte  de  Guiche,  his  son,  in  love  with  Madame  Henrietta. 

M.  de  Manicamp,  friend  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche. 

M.  de  Malicorne,  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais. 

M.  d’Artagnan,  Lieutenant,  afterwards  Captain,  of  the  King’s 
Musketeers. 

Comte  de  la  Pere  (Athos). 

Raoul,  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne,  his  son. 


M.  d’Herblay,  afterwards  Bishop  of  Vannes,  General  of  the 
Order  of  Jesuits,  and  Due  d’  Alameda  (Aramis). 

Baron  du  Vallon  de  Bracieux  de  Pierreponds  (Porthos) 
Jean  Poquelin  de  Moliere. 

Yicomte  de  Wardes. 

M.  DE  VlLLEROY. 

M.  de  Bouquet,  Superintendent  of  Pinance. 

Madame  Pouquet,  his  wife. 

Messieurs  Lyonne  and  Letellier,  Bouquet’s  associates  in 
the  ministry. 

Marquise  de  Belliere,  in  love  with  Pouquet. 

M.  DE  LA  PONTAINE, 

M.  Gourville, 

M.  Pellisson, 

M.  CoNRART, 

M.  Loret, 

L’Abbe  Bouquet,  brother  of  the  Superintendent. 

M.  Vanel,  a Councillor  of  Parliament,  afterwards  Procureur- 
General. 

Marguerite  Yanel,  his  wife,  a rival  of  la  Marquise  de  la  Belliere. 
M.  de  Saint-Remy,  maitre-hotel  to  Gaston  of  Orleans. 
Madame  de  Saint-Remy. 

Jean-Baptiste  Colbert,  Intendant  of  Pinance,  afterwards  Prime 
Minister. 

Messieurs  d’Infreville,  Destouches,  and  Porant,  in  Col- 
bert’s service. 


friends  of  Pouquet. 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


XV  il 


Messieurs  Breteuil,  Marin,  and  Havard,  colleagues  of 
Colbert. 

Messieurs  d’Eymeris,  Lyodot,  and  Vanin,  Farmers-General 
M.  de  Baisemaux  de  Montlezun,  Governor  of  the  Bastille, 
Seldon,  a prisoner  at  the  Bastille. 

No.  3,  Bertaudtere,  afterwards  “ The  Iron  Mask.” 

M.  de  Saint-Mars,  Governor  of  He  Sainte  Marguerite. 

A Franciscan  Friar,  General  of  the  Order  of  Jesuits. 

Baron  von  Wostpur, 

Monseigneur  Herrebia, 

Meinheer  Bonstett, 

Signor  Marini, 

Lord  MacCumnor,  Jesuits. 

Gris  art,  a physician. 

Louis  Constant  de  Pressigny,  Captain 
of  the  King’s  Frigate  “Pomona.”  y 
M.  de  Gesvres,  Captain  of  the  King’s  Guards. 

M.  de  Biscarrat,  an  officer  of  the  King’s  Guards. 

M.  de  Friedrich,  an  officer  of  the  Swiss  Guards. 

Messire  Jean  Perce rin,  the  King’s  tailor. 

M.  Valot,  the  King’s  physician. 

Planchet,  a confectioner  in  the  Hue  des  Lombards. 

Madame  Gechter,  his  housekeeper. 

Daddy  Celestin,  Planchet’ s servant. 

Bazin,  servant  to  M,  d’Herblay. 

Grimaud,  an  old  servant  of  Athos. 

Mousqtjeton,  servant  of  Porthos. 

Blasois,  servant  to  Athos. 

Olivain,  servant  of  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne. 

Jupenet,  a printer, 

Getard,  an  architect, 

Danicamp, 

Menneville,  an  adventurer. 

M.  Lebrun,  painter 
M.  Faucheux,  a goldsmith. 


| in  the  service  of  Fouquet. 


XV111 


LIST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Vatel,  Fouquet’s  steward. 

Toby,  one  of  Fouquet’s  servants. 

Yves,  a sailor. 

Keyser,  a Dutch  fisherman. 

Maitre  Cropole,  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Medici  at  Blois. 
Pittrino,  his  assistant. 

Madame  Cropole. 

Landlord  of  the  Beau  Paon  Hotel. 

Superior  of  the  Carmelite  Convent  at  Chaillot. 
Guenaud,  Mazarin’s  physician. 

The  Theattn  Father,  The  Cardinal’s  spiritual  director 
ENGLISH. 

Charles  II.,  King  of  England. 

Parry,  his  servant. 

General  Monk,  afterwards  Duke  of  Albemarle. 

Digby,  his  aide-de-camp. 

General  Lambert. 

James,  Duke  of  York,  brother  of  Charles  II. 

George  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Lord  Rochester. 

Duke  of  Norfolk. 

Miss  Mary  Grafton. 

Miss  Stewart. 

Host  of  the  Stag’s  Horn  Tavern. 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

I.  The  Letter . • » 1 

II.  The  Messenger 12 

III.  The  Interview 22 

IY.  Lather  and  Son  . . 32 

Y.  In  which  something  will  be  said  oe  Cro- 

POLI,  OF  CROPOLE,  AND  OF  A GREAT  UN- 
KNOWN Painter  . . 39 

YI.  The  Unknown 47 

VII.  Parry 56 

VIII.  What  his  Majesty  King  Louis  XIY.  was  at 

the  Age  of  Twenty-two 64 

IX.  In  which  the  Unknown  of  the  Hostelry 

of  the  Medici  loses  his  Incognito  . . 78 

X.  The  Arithmetic  of  M.  de  Mazarin  ...  92 

XI.  Mazarin’s  Policy 103 

XII.  The  King  and  the  Lieutenant  ....  114 

XIII.  Marie  de  Mancini 121 

XIY.  In  which  the  King  and  the  Lieutenant 

EACH  GIVE  PeOOFS  OF  MEMORY  ....  128 

XY.  The  Proscribed  . 140 


XX 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

XVI. 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 

XX. 


XXI. 


XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 


XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 


“ Remember  ! ” 

In  which  Aramis  is  sought  for,  and  only 

Bazin  found 

In  which  D’Artagnan  seeks  for  Porthos, 

AND  ONLY  FINDS  MOUSQUETON  .... 

What  D’Artagnan  did  in  Paris  . . . 

Of  the  Society  which  was  formed  in 
the  Rue  des  Lombards,  at  the  Sign 
OF  THE  PlLON  d’Or,  TO  CARRY  OUT  THE 

Idea  of  M.  D’Artagnan  ..... 
In  which  D’Artagnan  prepares  to  travel 
for  the  House  of  Planciiet  and  Com 

PANY 

D’Artagnan  travels  for  the  House  of 

Planciiet  and  Company 

In  which  the  Author,  very  unwillingly, 
is  forced  to  write  a little  History 

The  Treasure 

The  March 

Heart  and  Mind 

The  Next  Day 

Contraband  Goods  

In  which  D’Artagnan  begins  to  fear  he 
has  placed  his  Money  and  that  of 
Planciiet  in  the  Sinking  Pund  . . 

The  Shares  of  Planciiet  and  Company 

rise  again  to  Par 

Monk  reveals  Himself  ...... 

Atttos  and  D’Artagnan  meet  once  more 
at  the  Hostelry  of  the  Stag’s  Horn 


Page 

147 

160 

172 

182 


188 


201 

211 

220 

236 

246 

257 

269 

278 


287 

297 

305 

311 


CONTENTS. 


XXI 

Chapter  ' Page 

XXXIII.  The  Audience 327 

XXXIY.  Of  the  Embarrassment  or  Riches  . . 336 

XXXY.  Upon  the  Canal 344 

XXXYI.  How  D’Artagnan  drew,  as  a Eairy  might 
have  done,  a Country-Seat  prom  a 

Deal  Box 355 

XXXYII.  How  D’Artagnan  regulated  the  “ Pas- 
sive ” op  the  Company  before  he  es- 
tablished its  “ Active.” 366 

XXXYIIL  In  which  it  is  seen  that  the  Erencii 
Grocer  had  already  been  estab- 
lished in  the  Seventeenth  Century  374 

XXXIX.  Mazarin’s  Gaming-Party 382 

XL.  An  Appair  op  State 388 

XL I.  The  Recital 395 

XLII.  In  which  Mazarin  becomes  Prodigal  . 402 

XLIII.  Guenaud 408 

XLIY.  Colbert 413 

XLY.  Confession  op  a Man  op  Wealth  . . . 419 

XLYI.  The  Donation 426 

XLYII.  How  Anne  op  Austria  gave  one  Piece 
op  Advice  to  Louis  XIY.,  and  how 
M.  Bouquet  gave  him  another  . . 433 

XLYIII.  Agony 444 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


“To  me,  Musketeers  ! ” Vol.  I.  Frontispiece 

Drawn  and  etched  by  E.  Van  Muj'den. 

Bragelonne,  tee  Son  of  Ate  os Page  34 

Drawn  by  Edmund  H.  Garrett. 

M azarin’s  Gaming  Party 382 

Drawn  by  E.  Van  Muyden. 

His'  Greatness,  the  Bishop  of  Vannes  . . Yol.  II.  212 

Drawn  by  Fdlix  Oudart. 


Bragelonne  hurls  De  Wardes  oyer  the  Barrier  . 374 

Drawn  by  E.  Van  Muyden. 


THE 


VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  LETTER. 

Towards  the  middle  of  the  month  of  May,  in  the  year 
1660,  at  nine  o’clock  in  the  morning,  when  the  sun, 
already  high  in  the  heavens,  was  fast  absorbing  the  dew 
from  the  wall-flowers  of  the  castle  of  Blois,  a little  caval- 
cade, composed  of  three  men  and  two  pages,  re-entered 
the  city  by  the  bridge,  without  producing  any  effect 
upon  the  passengers  on  the  quay  beyond  a first  move- 
ment of  the  hand  to  the  head  as  a salute,  and  a second 
movement  of  the  tongue  to  say,  in  the  purest  French 
then  spoken  in  France,  “ There  is  Monsieur  returning 
from  hunting  ; ” and  that  was  all. 

While,  however,  the  horses  were  climbing  the  steep 
acclivity  which  leads  from  the  river  to  the  castle,  several 
shop-boys  approached  the  last  horse,  from  whose  saddle- 
bow a number  of  birds  were  suspended  by  the  beak. 

On  seeing  this  the  inquisitive  youths  manifested  with 
rustic  freedom  their  contempt  for  such  paltry  sport ; and 
after  a dissertation  among  themselves  upon  the  disad- 
vantages of  hawking,  they  returned  to  their  occupations. 
One  only  of  the  curious  party  — a stout,  chubby,  cheer- 
ful lad  — demanded  how  it  was  that  Monsieur,  who, 

VOL.  i.  — 1 


2 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


from  his  great  revenues,  had  it  in  his  power  to  amuse 
himself  so  much  better,  could  be  satisfied  with  such  mean 
diversions. 

“Do  you  not  know,”  one  of  the  standers-by  replied, 
“ that  Monsieur’s  principal  amusement  is  to  weary  him- 
self?” 

The  light-hearted  boy  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a 
gesture  which  said  as  clear  as  day,  “ In  that  case  I would 
rather  be  plain  Jack  than  a prince;”  and  all  resumed 
their  labors. 

In  the  mean  while  Monsieur  continued  his  route  with 
an  air  at  once  so  melancholy  and  so  majestic  that  he 
certainly  would  have  attracted  the  attention  of  specta- 
tors, if  spectators  there  had  been ; but  the  good  citizens 
of  Blois  could  not  pardon  Monsieur  for  having  chosen 
their  gay  city  for  an  abode  in  which  to  indulge  melan- 
choly at  his  ease ; and  as  often  as  they  caught  a glimpse 
of  the  illustrious  ennuye ’,  they  stole  away  gaping,  or  drew 
back  their  heads  into  the  interior  of  their  dwellings,  to 
escape  the  soporific  influence  of  that  long,  pale  face,  of 
those  watery  eyes  and  that  languid  address ; so  that 
the  worthy  prince  was  almost  certain  to  find  the  streets 
deserted  whenever  he  chanced  to  pass  through  them. 

How,  on  the  part  of  the  citizens  of  Blois  this  was  a 
culpable  piece  of  disrespect ; for  Monsieur  was,  after  the 
king,  — nay,  even,  perhaps  before  the  king,  — the  great- 
est noble  of  the  kingdom.  In  fact,  God,  who  had  granted 
to  Louis  XIV.,  then  reigning,  the  honor  of  being  son  of 
Louis  XIII.,  had  granted  to  Monsieur  the  honor  of  being 
son  of  Henry  IV.  It  was  not,  then,  or  at  least  it  ought 
not  to  have  been,  a trifling  source  of  pride  for  the  city  of 
Blois,  that  Gaston  of  Orleans  had  chosen  it  as  his  resi- 
dence, and  held  his  court  in  the  ancient  Castle  of  the 
States. 


THE  LETTER. 


3 


But  it  was  the  destiny  of  this  great  prince  to  excite 
the  attention  and  admiration  of  the  public  in  a very 
modified  degree  wherever  he  might  be.  Monsieur  had 
fallen  into  this  situation  by  habit. 

It  was  not,  perhaps,  this  which  gave  him  that  air  of 
listlessness.  Monsieur  had  been  tolerably  busy  in  the 
course  of  his  life.  A man  cannot  allow  the  heads  of  a 
dozen  of  his  best  friends  to  be  cut  off  without  feeling 
a little  excitement ; and  as  since  the  accession  of  Mazarin 
to  power  no  heads  had  been  cut  off,  Monsieur’s  occupation 
was  gone,  and  his  morale  suffered  from  it. 

The  life  of  the  poor  prince  was,  then,  very  dull.  After 
his  little  morning  hawking-party  on  the  banks  of  the 
Beuvron  or  in  the  woods  of  Chiverny,  Monsieur  crossed 
the  Loire,  went  to  breakfast  at  Chambord,  with  or 
without  an  appetite,  and  the  city  of  Blois  heard  no 
more  of  its  sovereign  lord  and  master  till  the  next 
hawking-day. 

So  much  for  the  ennui  extra  muros ; of  the  ennui  of  the 
interior  we  will  give  the  reader  an  idea  if  he  will  with  us 
follow  the  cavalcade  to  the  majestic  porch  of  the  Castle  of 
the  States. 

Monsieur  rode  a little  steady-paced  horse,  equipped 
with  a large  saddle  of  red  Flemish  velvet,  with  stirrups 
in  the  shape  of  buskins ; the  horse  was  of  a bay  color ; 
Monsieur’s  doublet  of  crimson  velvet  blended  with  the 
cloak  of  the  same  shade  and  the  horse’s  equipment ; and 
it  was  only  by  this  red  appearance  of  the  whole  that  the 
prince  could  be  known  from  his  two  companions,  the 
one  dressed  in  violet,  the  other  in  green.  He  on  the  left, 
in  violet,  was  his  equerry;  he  on  the  right,  in  green,  was 
the  master  of  the  hounds. 

One  of  the  pages  carried  two  gerfalcons  upon  a perch  ; 
the  other,  a hunting-horn,  which  he  blew  with  a careless 


4 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


note  at  twenty  paces  from  the  castle.  Every  one  about 
this  listless  prince  did  what  he  had  to  do  listlessly. 

At  this  signal,  eight  guards,  who  were  lounging  in  the 
sun  in  the  square  court,  ran  to  their  halberds,  and  Mon- 
sieur made  his  solemn  entry  into  the  castle. 

When  he  had  disappeared  under  the  shades  of  the 
porch,  three  or  four  idlers,  who  had  followed  the  cavalcade 
to  the  castle,  after  pointing  out  the  suspended  birds  to 
each  other,  dispersed  with  comments  upon  what  they  saw  ; 
and  when  they  were  gone,  the  street,  the  place,  and  the 
court,  all  remained  deserted  alike. 

Monsieur  dismounted  without  speaking  a word,  went 
straight  to  his  apartments,  where  his  valet  changed  his 
dress,  and,  as  Madame  had  not  yet  sent  orders  respect- 
ing breakfast,  stretched  himself  upon  a lounge,  and  was 
soon  as  fast  asleep  as  if  it  had  been  eleven  o’clock  at 
night. 

The  eight  guards,  who  concluded  their  service  for  the 
day  was  over,  laid  themselves  down  very  comfortably  in 
the  sun  upon  some  stone  benches ; the  grooms  disap- 
peared with  their  horses  into  the  stables  ; and,  with  the 
exception  of  a few  joyous  birds,  startling  each  other  with 
their  sharp  chirping  in  the  tufts  of  gilliflowers,  it  might 
have  been  thought  that  the  whole  castle  was  as  soundly 
asleep  as  Monsieur  was. 

All  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  this  delicious  silence,  there 
resounded  a clear,  ringing  laugh,  which  caused  several  of 
the  halberdiers  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  siesta  to  open 
at  least  one  eye. 

This  burst  of  laughter  proceeded  from  a window  of 
the  castle,  visited  at  this  moment  by  the  sun,  which  sur- 
rounded it  with  light  in  one  of  those  large  angles  which 
the  profiles  of  the  chimneys  mark  out  upon  the  walls 
before  midday. 


THE  LETTER. 


5 


The  little  balcony  of  wrought-iron  which  projected  in 
front  of  this  window  was  furnished  with  a pot  of  red  gilli- 
flowers,  another  pot  of  primroses,  and  an  early  rose-tree, 
the  foliage  of  which,  beautifully  green,  was  variegated 
with  numerous  red  specks  announcing  future  roses. 

In  the  chamber  lighted  by  this  window  was  a square 
table  covered  with  an  old  large-flowered  Haarlem  tapestry  ; 
in  the  centre  of  this  table  was  a long-necked  stone  bottle, 
in  which  were  irises  and  lilies  of  .the  valley;  at  each  end 
of  this  table  was  a young  girl. 

The  position  of  these  two  young  persons  was  singular ; 
they  might  have  been  taken  for  two  boarders  escaped 
from  a convent.  One  of  them,  with  both  elbows  on  the 
table,  and  a pen  in  her  hand,  was  tracing  characters 
upon  a sheet  of  fine  Dutch  paper ; the  other,  kneeling 
upon  a chair,  which  enabled  her  to  advance  her  head 
and  bust  over  the  back  of  it  to  the  middle  of  the  table, 
was  watching  her  companion  as  she  wrote. 

Thence  the  thousand  cries,  the  thousand  railleries,  the 
thousand  laughs,  one  of  which,  more  brilliant  than  the 
rest,  had  startled  the  birds  from  the  wall-flowers,  and 
disturbed  the  slumbers  of  Monsieur’s  guards. 

We  are  taking  portraits  now  ; we  shall  be  allowed, 
therefore,  we  hope,  to  sketch  the  last  two  of  this 
chapter. 

The  one  who  was  kneeling  in  the  chair  — that  is  to  say, 
the  joyous,  the  laughing  one  — was  a beautiful  girl  of 
from  nineteen  to  twTenty  years,  with  brown  complexion 
and  brown  hair,  with  eyes  which  sparkled  beneath  strongly 
marked  brows,  and  teeth  which  seemed  to  shine  like 
pearls  between  her  red  coral  lips.  Her  every  movement 
seemed  the  result  of  a springing  mine  ; she  did  not  live, 
she  bounded. 

The  other  — she  who  was  writing  — looked  at  her  tur* 


6 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


bulent  companion  with  an  eye  as  limpid,  as  pure,  and  as 
blue  as  the  heaven  of  that  day.  Her  hair,  of  a shaded 
fairness,  arranged  with  exquisite  taste,  fell  in  silky  curls 
over  her  lovely  mantling  cheeks ; she  moved  along  the 
paper  a delicate  hand,  whose  thinness  announced  her  ex- 
treme youth.  At  each  burst  of  laughter  that  proceeded  from 
her  friend  she  raised,  as  if  annoyed,  her  white  shoulders, 
which  were  of  refined  and  pleasing  form,  but  wanting  in 
strength  and  fulness,  as  were  also  her  arms  and  hands. 

“ Montalais ! Montalais ! ” said  she  at  length,  in  a 
voice  soft  and  caressing  as  a melody,  “you  laugh  too 
loud;  you  laugh  like  a man.  You  will  not  only  draw 
the  attention  of  messieurs  the  guards,  but  you  will  not 
hear  Madame’s  bell  when  Madame  rings.” 

This  admonition  did  not  make  the  young  girl  called 
Montalais  cease  either  to  laugh  or  to  gesticulate.  She 
only  replied  : “ Louise,  you  do  not  speak  as  you  think, 
my  dear ; you  know  that  messieurs  the  guards,  as  you 
call  them,  have  only  just  begun  their  sleep,  and  that 
a cannon  would  not  waken  them  ; you  know  that  Ma- 
dame’s bell  can  be  heard  at  the  bridge  of  Blois,  and 
that  consequently  I shall  hear  it  when  my  services  are 
required  by  Madame.  What  annoys  you,  my  child,  is 
that  I laugh  while  you  are  wTriting ; and  what  you  are 
afraid  of  is  that  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  your  mother, 
will  come  up  here,  as  she  does  sometimes  when  we 
laugh  too  loud  ; that  she  will  surprise  us,  and  that 
she  will  see  that  enormous  sheet  of  paper  upon  which, 
in  a quarter  of  an  hour,  you  have  only  traced  the  words 
4 Monsieur  Raoul.’  Now,  you  are  right,  my  dear  Louise, 
because  after  these  words,  ‘ Monsieur  Raoul/  others  may 
be  put  so  significant  and  so  incendiary  as  to  cause  Ma- 
dame de  Saint-Remy  to  burst  out  into  fire  and  flames. 
Ah  ! is  not  that  true  now  ? — say.” 


THE  LETTER. 


7 


And  Montalais  redoubled  her  laughter  and  noisy 
provocations. 

The  fair  girl  at  length  became  quite  angry  ; she  tore 
the  sheet  of  paper  on  which,  in  fact,  the  words  “ Mon- 
sieur Raoul  ” were  written  in  good  characters,  and 
crushing  the  paper  in  her  trembling  hands,  threw  it  out 
of  the  window. 

“ There,  there  ! ” said  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  ; 
“ there  is  our  little  lamb,  our  gentle  dove,  angry  ! Don’t 
be  afraid,  Louise ! Madame  de  s Saint-Remy  will  not 
come ; and  if  she  should,  you  know  I have  a quick  ear. 
Besides,  what  can  be  more  permissible  than  to  write  to 
an  old  friend  of  twelve  years’  standing,  particularly  when 
the  letter  begins  with  the  words  4 Monsieur  Raoul’  1” 

“ It  is  all  very  well ; I will  not  write  to  him  at  all,” 
said  the  young  girl. 

“ Ah ! ah  ! in  good  sooth,  Montalais  is  properly  pun- 
ished,” cried  the  jeering  brunette,  still  laughing.  “ Come, 
come,  let  us  try  another  sheet  of  paper,  and  finish  our 
despatch  off-hand.  Good ! there  is  the  bell  ringing 
now.  By  my  faith,  so  much  the  worse  ! Madame  must 
wait,  or  else  do  without  her  first  maid  of  honor  this 
morning.” 

A bell,  in  fact,  did  ring ; it  announced  that  Madame 
had  finished  her  toilette,  and  waited  for  Monsieur  to 
give  her  his  hand  and  conduct  her  from  the  salon  to 
the  refectory. 

This  formality  being  accomplished  with  great  cere- 
mony, the  husband  and  wife  breakfasted,  and  then  sepa- 
rated till  the  hour  of  dinner,  invariably  fixed  at  two 
o’clock. 

The  sound  of  this  bell  caused  a door  to  be  opened  in 
the  offices  on  the  left  hand  of  the  court,  from  which  filed 
two  maitres  d’hotel , followed  by  eight  scullions  bearing  a 


8 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


kind  of  hand-barrow  loaded  with  dishes  under  silver 
covers. 

One  of  the  maitres  d’hotel , the  first  in  rank,  touched 
one  of  the  guards,  who  was  snoring  on  his  bench,  slightly 
with  his  wand  ; he  even  carried  his  kindness  so  far  as  to 
place  the  halberd  which  stood  against  the  wall  in  the 
hands  of  the  man,  stupid  with  sleep  ; after  which  the 
soldier,  without  explanation,  escorted  the  viande  of  Mon- 
sieur to  the  refectory,  preceded  by  a page  and  the  two 
maitres  d' hotel. 

Wherever  the  viande  passed,  the  sentinels  presented  arms. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  and  her  companion  had 
watched  from  their  window  the  details  of  this  ceremony, 
to  which,  nevertheless,  they  must  have  been  pretty  well 
accustomed.  But  they  did  not  look  so  much  from  curi- 
osity as  to  be  assured  that  they  should  not  be  disturbed. 
So,  guards,  scullions,  maitres  <P  hotel,  and  pages  having 
passed,  they  resumed  their  places  at  the  table ; and  the 
sun,  which  through  the  window-frame  had  for  an  in- 
stant fallen  upon  those  two  charming  countenances,  now 
shed  its  light  only  upon  the  gilliflowers,  primroses,  and 
rose-tree. 

“ Bah  ! ” said  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  taking  her 
place  again  ; “ Madame  will  breakfast  very  well  with- 
out me.” 

“ Oh,  Montalais,  you  will  be  punished ! ” replied  the 
other  girl,  sitting  down  quietly  in  hers. 

“ Punished,  indeed  ! — that  is  to  say,  deprived  of  a ride  ! 
That  is  just  the  way  in  which  I wish  to  be  punished. 
To  go  out  in  the  grand  coach  perched  upon  a doorstep  ; 
to  turn  to  the  left,  twist  round  to  the  right,  over  roads 
full  of  ruts,  where  we  cannot  exceed  a league  in  two 
hours ; and  then  to  come  back  straight  towards  the  wing 
of  the  castle  in  which  is  the  window  of  Marie  de  Medicis, 


THE  LETTER. 


9 


so  that  Madame  never  fails  to  say,  ‘ Could  one  believe 
it  possible  that  Queen  Marie  should  have  escaped  from 
that  window  ? — forty-seven  feet  high  ! The  mother  and 
two  princes  and  three  princesses  ! ’ If  you  call  that  re- 
laxation, Louise,  all  I ask  is  to  be  punished  every  day, 
particularly  when  my  punishment  is  to  remain  with  you 
and  write  such  interesting  letters  as  we  write  ! ” 

“ Montalais ! Montalais  ! there  are  duties  to  be  per- 
formed.” 

“ You  talk  of  them  very  much  at  your  ease,  my  little 
heart ! — you,  who  are  left  quite  free  amidst  this  tedious 
court.  You  are  the  only  person  that  reaps  the  advantages 
of  them  without  incurring  the  trouble,  — you,  who  are 
really  more  one  of  Madame’s  maids  of  honor  than  I am,  be- 
cause Madame  makes  her  affection  for  your  father-in-law 
glance  off  upon  you ; so  that  you  enter  this  dull  house  as 
the  birds  fly  into  yonder  court,  inhaling  the  air,  pecking 
the  flowers,  picking  up  the  grain,  without  having  the  least 
service  to  perform  or  the  least  annoyance  to  undergo. 
And  you  talk  to  me  of  duties  to  be  performed  ! In  sooth, 
my  pretty  idler,  what  are  your  own  proper  duties,  unless 
to  write  to  the  handsome  Raoul?  And  even  that  you 
don’t  do ; so  that  it  looks  to  me  as  if  you  likewise  were 
rather  negligent  of  your  duties  ! ” 

Louise  assumed  a serious  air,  leaned  her  chin  upon  her 
hand,  and  said,  in  a tone  full  of  candid  remonstrance:  “ And 
do  you  reproach  me  with  my  good  fortune  ? Can  you  have 
the  heart  to  do  it  ? You  have  a future ; you  belong  to 
the  court ; the  king,  if  he  should  marry,  will  require  Mon- 
sieur to  be  near  his  person  ; you  will  see  splendid  fetes  ; 
you  will  see  the  king,  who  they  say  is  so  handsome,  so 
agreeable  ! ” 

“Ay,  and  still  more,  I shall  see  Raoul,  who  attends 
upon  Monsieur  the  Prince,”  added  Montalais,  maliciously. 


10 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Poor  Raoul ! ” sighed  Louise. 

“ Now  is  the  time  to  write  to  him,  my  pretty  dear ! 
Come,  begin  again  with  that  famous  ‘ Monsieur  Raoul 9 
which  figures  at  the  top  of  the  poor  torn  sheet.” 

She  then  held  the  pen  towards  her,  and  with  a charm- 
ing smile  encouraged  her  hand,  which  quickly  traced  the 
words  she  named. 

“ What  next?  ” asked  the  younger  of  the  two  girls. 

“Why,  now  write  what  you  think,  Louise,”  replied 
Montalais. 

“Are  you  quite  sure  I think  of  any  thing  ?” 

“ You  think  of  somebody,  and  that  amounts  to  the 
same  thing,  or  rather  even  worse.” 

“Do  you  think  so,  Montalais?” 

“ Louise,  Louise,  your  blue  eyes  are  as  deep  as  the  sea 
I saw  at  Boulogne  last  year!  No,  no,  I mistake  — the 
sea  is  perfidious  : your  eyes  are  as  deep  as  the  azure 
yonder  — look  ! — over  our  heads  ! ” 

“ Well,  since  you  can  read  so  well  in  my  eyes,  tell  me 
what  I am  thinking  about,  Montalais.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  you  don’t  think  ‘ Monsieur  Raoul ; 5 
you  think  4 My  dear  Raoul.’  ” 

“Oh  — ” 

“Never  blush  for  such  a trifle  as  that!  ‘My  dear 
Raoul,’  we  will  say,  ‘ you  implore  me  to  write  to  you 
at  Paris,  where  you  are  detained  by  your  attendance 
on  Monsieur  the  Prince.  As  you  must  be  very  dull  there 
to  seek  for  amusement  in  the  remembrance  of  a country- 
girl  — ’ ” 

Louise  rose  up  suddenly.  “ No,  Montalais,”  said  she, 
with  a smile  ; “ I don’t  think  a word  of  that.  Look,  this 
is  what  I think ; ” and  she  seized  the  pen  boldly,  and 
traced,  with  a firm  hand,  the  following  words  : “ I should 
have  been  very  unhappy  if  your  entreaties  to  obtain  a 


THE  LETTER. 


11 


remembrance  of  me  had  been  less  warm.  Everything 
here  reminds  me  of  our  early  days,  which  so  quickly 
passed  away,  which  so  delightfully  flew  by,  that  no  others 
will  ever  replace  the  charm  of  them  in  my  heart.” 

Montalais,  who  watched  the  flying  pen,  and  read,  the 
wrong  way  upward,  as  fast  as  her  friend  wrote,  here 
interrupted  by  clapping  her  hands.  “ Capital  ! ” cried 
she ; “ there  is  frankness,  there  is  heart,  there  is  style  ! 
Show  these  Parisians,  my  dear,  that  Blois  is  the  city  for 
fine  language  ! ” 

“ He  knows  very  well  that  Blois  was  a Paradise  to 
me,”  replied  the  girl. 

“ That  is  exactly  what  I mean  to  say ; and  you  speak 
like  an  angel.” 

“ I will  finish,  Montalais ; ” and  she  continued  as  follows  ; 
“You  often  think  of  me,  you  say,  M.  Raoul.  I thank 
you ; but  that  does  not  surprise  me,  when  I recollect  how 
often  our  hearts  have  beaten  close  to  each  other.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  Montalais.  “ Beware,  my  lamb  ! You 
are  scattering  your  wool,  and  there  are  wolves  about.” 
Louise  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  gallop  of  a horse 
resounded  under  the  porch  of  the  castle. 

“ What  is  that  % v said  Montalais,  approaching  the 
windows  “ A handsome  cavalier,  by  my  faith  ! ” 

“ Oh  ! — Raoul ! ” exclaimed  Louise,  who  had  made 
the  same  movement  as  her  friend,  and,  becoming  pale  as 
death,  sank  back  beside  her  unfinished  letter. 

“ Now,  he  is  a clever  lover,  upon  my  word  ! ” cried 
Montalais;  “he  arrives  just  at  the  proper  moment.” 

“ Come  away,  come  away,  I implore  you  ! ” murmured 
Louise. 

“ Bah  ! he  does  not  know  me.  Let  me  see  wThat  he 
has  come  here  for.” 


12 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  MESSENGER. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  was  right ; the  young  cav* 
alier  was  goodly  to  look  upon. 

He  was  a young  man  of  from  twenty-four  to  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  tall  and  slender,  wearing  gracefully  the 
picturesque  military  costume  of  the  period.  His  funnel- 
shaped  boots  contained  a foot  which  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais  might  not  have  disowned  if  she  had  been  dis- 
guised as  a man.  With  one  of  his  delicate  but  nervous 
hands  he  checked  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  court, 
and  with  the  other  raised  his  hat,  whose  long  plumes 
shaded  his  at  once  serious  and  ingenuous  countenance. 

The  guards,  roused  by  the  steps  of  the  horse,  awoke, 
and  were  on  foot  in  a minute.  The  young  man  waited 
till  one  of  them  was  close  to  his  saddle-bow ; then,  stoop- 
ing towards  him,  in  a clear,  distinct  voice,  which  was 
perfectly  audible  at  the  window  where  the  two  girls 
wTere  concealed,  “ A messenger  for  his  royal  Highness,” 
he  said. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” cried  the  soldier.  “ Officer,  a messenger ! ” 

But  this  brave  guard  knew  very  well  that  no  officer 
would  appear,  seeing  that  the  only  one  who  could  have 
appeared  dwelt  at  the  other  side  of  the  castle,  in  an  ap- 
partement  looking  into  the  gardens.  So  he  hastened  to 
add  : “ The  officer,  Monsieur,  is  on  his  rounds ; but  in 
his  absence,  M.  de  Saint-Remy,  the  maitre  d}  hotel,  shall 
be  informed.” 


THE  MESSENGER. 


13 


“M.  de  Saint-Remy  ] ” repeated  the  cavalier,  slightly 
blushing. 

“ Do  you  know  him  1 ” 

“ Why,  yes ; but  request  him,  if  you  please,  that  my 
visit  be  announced  to  his  royal  Highness  as  soon  as 
possible.” 

“ It  appears  to  be  pressing,”  said  the  guard,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself,  but  really  in  the  hope  of  obtaining 
an  answer. 

The  messenger  made  an  affirmative  sign  with  his  head. 

“ In  that  case,”  said  the  guard,  “ I will  go  and  seek 
the  maitre  d’ hotel  myself.” 

The  young  man,  in  the  mean  time,  dismounted  ; and 
while  the  others  observed  with  curiosity  every  movement 
of  the  fine  horse  the  cavalier  rode,  the  soldier  returned. 

“Your  pardon,  young  gentleman;  but  your  name,  if 
you  please  ? ” 

“The  Yicomte  de  Bragelonne,  on  the  part  of  his  High- 
ness M.  le  Prince  de  Conde.” 

The  soldier  made  a profound  bow,  and,  as  if  the  name 
of  the  conqueror  of  Rocroy  and  Lens  had  given  him 
wings,  stepped  lightly  up  the  steps  leading  to  the 
antechamber. 

M.  de  Bragelonne  had  not  had  time  to  fasten  his  horse 
to  the  iron  bars  of  the  railing,  when  M.  de  Saint-Remy 
came  running,  out  of  breath,  supporting  his  capacious 
stomach  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he  cut  the 
air  as  a fisherman  cleaves  the  waves  with  his  oar. 

“ Ah,  Monsieur  the  Viscount ! You  at  Blois  ! ” cried  he. 
“ Well,  that  is  a wonder  ! Good-day  to  you,  — good-day, 
M.  Raoul.” 

“ I offer  you  a thousand  respects,  M.  de  Saint-Remy.” 

“ How  Madame  de  la  Vail — I mean,  how  delighted 
Madame  de  Saint-Remy  will  be  to  see  you  ! But  come  in. 


14 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


His  royal  Highness  is  at  breakfast.  Must  he  be  inter- 
rupted h Is  the  matter  serious  ? ” 

“ Yes  and  no,  M.  de  Saint-Remy.  A moment’s 
delay,  however,  would  be  disagreeable  to  his  royal 
Highness.’’ 

“ If  that  is  the  case,  we  will  force  the  guard,  Monsieur 
the  Viscount.  Come  in.  Besides,  Monsieur  is  in  an  excel- 
lent humor  to-day.  And  then,  you  bring  news,  do  you 
notr 

“ Great  news,  M.  de  Saint-Remy.” 

“ And  good,  I presume  ? ” 

“ Excellent.” 

“ Come  quickly,  come  quickly,  then  ! ” cried  the  worthy 
man,  putting  his  dress  to  rights  as  he  went  along. 

Raoul  followed  him,  hat  in  hand,  and  a little  discon- 
certed at  the  noise  made  by  his  spurs  in  these  immense 
halls. 

As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  in  the  interior  of  the 
palace,  the  window  of  the  court  was  repeopled,  and  an 
animated  whispering  betrayed  the  emotion  of  the  two 
girls.  They  soon  appeared  to  have  formed  a resolution, 
for  one  of  the  two  faces  disappeared  from  the  window. 
This  was  the  brunette  ; the  other  remained  behind  the 
balcony,  concealed  by  the  flowers,  watching  attentively 
through  the  branches  the  flight  of  steps  by  which  M.  de 
Bragelonne  had  entered  the  castle. 

In  the  mean  time  the  object  of  so  much  curiosity  con- 
tinued on  his  way,  following  the  steps  of  the  maitre  d’ hotel. 
The  noise  of  quick  steps,  an  odor  of  wine  and  viands,  a 
clinking  of  crystals  and  plates,  warned  him  that  he  was 
coming  to  the  end  of  his  course. 

The  pages,  valets,  and  officers,  assembled  in  the  offices 
adjoining  the  refectory,  welcomed  the  new-comer  with 
the  proverbial  politeness  of  the  country.  Some  of  them 


THE  MESSENGER. 


15 


were  acquainted  with  Raoul,  and  nearly  all  knew  that  he 
came  from  Paris.  It  might  be  said  that  his  arrival  for  a 
moment  suspended  the  service.  In  fact,  a page  who  was 
pouring  out  wine  for  his  royal  Highness,  on  hearing  the 
jingling  of  spurs  in  the  next  chamber,  turned  round  like 
a child,  without  perceiving  that  he  was  continuing  to 
pour  out,  not  into  the  glass,  but  upon  the  table-cloth. 

Madame,  who  was  not  so  preoccupied  as  her  glorious 
spouse,  remarked  this  distraction  of  the  page.  66  Well ! ” 
exclaimed  she. 

“ Well ! ” repeated  Monsieur  ; “ what  is  going  on 

then  ? ” 

M.  de  Saint-Remy,  whose  head  had  just  entered  the 
doorway,  took  advantage  of  the  moment. 

“ Why  am  I to  be  disturbed  h 99  said  Gaston,  helping 
himself  to  a thick  slice  of  one  of  the  largest  salmon  that 
had  ever  ascended  the  Loire  to  be  captured  between 
Painboeuf  and  St.  Nazaire. 

“ There  is  a messenger  from  Paris.  Oh  ! but  after 
Monseigneur  has  breakfasted  will  do  ; there  is  plenty  of 
time.” 

“ From  Paris  ! ” cried  the  prince,  letting  his  fork  fall. 
“ A messenger  from  Paris,  do  you  say  ^ And  on  whose 
part  does  this  messenger  come  ? ” 

“ On  the  part  of  Monsieur  the  Prince,”  said  the  maitre 
d’ hotel,  promptly. 

Every  one  knows  that  the  Prince  de  Conde  was  so 
called. 

“ A messenger  from  Monsieur  the  Prince  ! ” said  Gas- 
ton, with  an  inquietude  that  escaped  none  of  the  assist- 
ants, and  consequently  redoubled  the  general  curiosity. 

Monsieur,  perhaps,  fancied  himself  brought  back  again 
to  the  happy  times  when  the  opening  of  a door  gave  him 
emotion,  when  every  letter  might  contain  a State  secret, 


16 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


when  every  message  was  connected  with  a dark  and  com- 
plicated intrigue.  Perhaps,  likewise,  that  great  name  of 
Monsieur  the  Prince  expanded  itself,  beneath  the  roofs  of 
Blois,  into  the  proportions  of  a phantom. 

Monsieur  pushed  away  his  plate. 

“ Shall  I tell  the  envoy  to  wait  ? ” asked  M.  de  Saint- 
Remy. 

A glance  from  Madame  emboldened  Gaston,  who  re- 
plied : “ No,  no;  let  him  come  in  at  once,  on  the  con- 
trary. By  the  way,  who  is  he  % ” 

“ A gentleman  of  this  country,  M.  le  Vicomte  de 
Bragelonne.” 

“ Ah,  very  well ! Introduce  him,  Saint-Remy,  — intro- 
duce him.” 

And  when  he  had  let  fall  these  words  with  his  accus- 
tomed gravity,  Monsieur  turned  his  eyes,  in  a certain 
manner,  upon  the  people  of  his  suite  ; so  that  all  — pages, 
officers,  and  equerries  — quitted  the  table-linen,  knives, 
and  goblets,  and  made  a retreat  towards  the  second  cham- 
ber as  rapid  as  it  was  disorderly. 

This  little  army  had  dispersed  in  two  files  when  Raoul 
de  Bragelonne,  preceded  by  M.  de  Saint-Remy,  entered 
the  refectory. 

The  short  moment  of  solitude  which  this  retreat  had 
left  him,  afforded  Monsieur  time  to  assume  a diplomatic 
countenance.  He  did  not  turn  round,  but  waited  till 
the  maitre  d'hotel  should  bring  the  messenger  face  to  face 
with  him. 

Raoul  stopped  even  with  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  so 
as  to  be  exactly  between  Monsieur  and  Madame.  From 
this  place  he  made  a profound  bow  to  Monsieur,  and  a 
very  humble  one  to  Madame  ; then,  drawing  himself 
up  into  military  pose , he  waited  for  Monsieur  to  address 
him. 


THE  MESSENGER. 


17 


On  his  part  the  prince  waited  till  the  doors  were  her- 
metically closed.  He  would  not  turn  round  to  ascertain 
the  fact,  as  that  would  have  been  derogatory  to  his  dig- 
nity ; but  he  listened  with  all  his  ears  for  the  noise  of  the 
lock,  which  would  promise  him  at  least  an  appearance  of 
secrecy. 

The  doors  being  closed,  Monsieur  raised  his  eyes 
towards  the  viscount,  and  said,  “ It  appears  that  you 
come  from  Paris,  Monsieur  $ ” 

“ This  minute,  Monseigneur.” 

“ How  is  the  king  1 ” 

“ His  Majesty  is  in  perfect  health,  Monseigneur.” 

“ And  my  sister-in-law  t ” 

“ Her  Majesty  the  queen-mother  still  suffers  from  the 
complaint  in  her  lungs,  but  for  the  last  month  she  has 
been  rather  better.” 

“ Somebody  told  me  you  came  on  the  part  of  Monsieur 
the  Prince.  They  must  have  been  mistaken,  surely  1 ” 

“ No,  Monseigneur  ; Monsieur  the  Prince  has  charged 
me  to  convey  this  letter  to  your  royal  Highness,  and  I 
am  to  wait  for  an  answer  to  it.” 

Raoul  had  been  a little  annoyed  by  this  cold  and  cau- 
tious reception,  and  his  voice  insensibly  sank  to  a low  key. 

The  prince  forgot  that  he  was  the  cause  of  this  mys- 
tery, and  his  fears  returned. 

He  received  the  letter  from  the  Prince  de  Conde  with 
a haggard  look,  unsealed  it  as  he  would  have  unsealed  a 
suspicious  packet,  and,  in  order  to  read  it  so  that  no  one 
should  remark  the  effects  of  it  upon  his  countenance, 
turned  round. 

Madame  followed,  with  an  anxiety  almost  equal  to  that 
of  the  prince,  every  manoeuvre  of  her  august  husband. 

Raoul,  impassible,  and  a little  disengaged  by  the  pre- 
occupation of  his  hosts,  looked  from  his  place  through 
VOL.  i.  — 2 


18 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


the  open  window  at  the  gardens  and  the  statues  which 
peopled  them. 

“ Well ! ” cried  Monsieur,  all  at  once,  with  a cheerful 
imile;  “here  is  an  agreeable  surprise,  and  a charming 
letter  from  Monsieur  the  Prince.  Look,  Madame  ! ” 

The  table  was  too  large  to  allow  the  arm  of  the  prince 
to  reach  the  hand  of  Madame.  Eaoul  sprang  forward  to 
be  their  intermediary,  and  did  it  with  so  good  a grace  as 
to  procure  a flattering  acknowledgment  from  the  princess. 

“You  know  the  contents  of  this  letter,  no  doubt V 
said  Gaston  to  Eaoul. 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur  ; Monsieur  the  Prince  at  first  gave 
me  the  message  verbally,  but  upon  reflection  his  Highness 
took  up  his  pen.” 

“ It  is  beautiful  writing,”  said  Madame,  “ but  I cannot 
read  it.” 

“ Will  you  read  it  to  Madame,  M.  de  Bragelonne  h ” 
said  the  duke. 

“ Yes  ; read  it,  if  you  please,  Monsieur.” 

Eaoul  began  to  read,  Monsieur  giving  again  all  his 
attention.  The  letter  was  couched  in  these  terms  : — 

“ Monseigneur,  — The  king  is  about  to  set  out  for  the 
frontier.  You  are  aware  that  the  marriage  of  his  Majesty 
is  decided  upon.  The  king  has  done  me  the  honor  to  ap- 
point me  his  quartermaster  for  this  journey;  and  as  I know 
with  what  joy  his  Majesty  would  pass  a day  at  Blois,  I ven- 
ture to  ask  your  royal  Highness’s  permission  to  mark  with 
my  chalk  the  house  you  inhabit.  If,  however,  the  sudden- 
ness of  this  request  should  occasion  your  royal  Highness  any 
embarrassment,  I entreat  you  to  say  so  by  the  messenger  I 
send,  — a gentleman  of  my  suite,  M.  le  Yicomte  de  Brage- 
lonne. My  itinerary  will  depend  upon  your  royal  Highness’s 
determination,  and,  instead  of  passing  through  Blois,  we  shall 
come  through  Vendome  and  Romorantin.  I venture  to  hope 


THE  MESSENGER. 


19 


that  your  royal  Highness  will  receive  my  request  kindly,  — 
it  being  the  expression  of  my  boundless  devotion,  and  desire 
to  make  myself  agreeable  to  you.” 

“ Nothing  can  be  more  gracious  towards  us,”  said 
Madame,  who  had  more  than  once  consulted  her  husband’s 
expression  during  the  reading  of  the  letter.  “ The  king 
here  ! ” exclaimed  she,  in  a rather  louder  tone  than  would 
have  been  necessary  to  preserve  secrecy. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  his  royal  Highness  in  his  turn,  “you 
will  offer  my  thanks  to  M.  le  Prince  de  Conde,  and  ex- 
press to  him  my  gratitude  for  the  pleasure  he  has  done 
me.”  Raoul  bowed. 

“ On  what  day  will  his  Majesty  arrive  ? ” continued 
the  prince. 

“The  king,  Monseigneur,  will,  in  all  probability,  arrive 
this  evening.” 

“But  how,  then,  could  he  have  known  my  reply  if  it 
had  been  in  the  negative  % ” 

“ I was  desired,  Monseigneur,  to  return  in  all  haste  to 
Beaugency,  to  give  counter-orders  to  the  courier,  who 
was  himself  to  go  back  immediately  with  counter-orders 
to  Monsieur  the  Prince.” 

“ His  Majesty  is  at  Orleans,  then  ? ” 

“ Much  nearer,  Monseigneur  ; his  Majesty  must  by  this 
time  have  arrived  at  Meung.” 

“ Does  the  court  accompany  him  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Apropos , I forgot  to  ask  you  after  Monsieur  the 
Cardinal.” 

“ His  Eminence  appears  to  enjoy  good  health,  Mon- 
seigneur.” 

“His  nieces  accompany  him,  no  doubt?” 

“No,  Monseigneur;  his  Eminence  has  ordered  the 


20 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Mesdemoiselles  de  Mancini  to  set  out  for  Brouage.  They 
will  follow  the  left  bank  of  the  Loire,  while  the  court  will 
come  by  the  right.” 

“ What ! Mademoiselle  Marie  de  Mancini  quit  the 
court  in  that  manner  % ” asked  Monsieur,  his  reserve  be- 
ginning to  diminish. 

“ Mademoiselle  Marie  de  Mancini  in  particular,”  replied 
Raoul,  discreetly. 

A fugitive  smile,  an  imperceptible  vestige  of  his  ancient 
spirit  of  intrigue,  shot  across  the  pale  face  of  the  prince. 

“ Thanks,  M.  de  Bragelonne,”  then  said  Monsieur. 
“ You  would,  perhaps,  not  be  willing  to  render  Monsieur 
the  Prince  the  commission  with  which  I would  charge  you, 
and  that  is,  that  his  messenger  has  been  very  agreeable 
to  me ; but  I will  tell  him  so  myself.” 

Raoul  bowed  his  thanks  to  Monsieur  for  the  honor  he 
had  done  him. 

Monsieur  made  a sign  to  Madame,  who  struck  a bell 
which  was  placed  at  her  right  hand ; M.  de  Saint-Remy 
entered,  and  the  room  was  soon  filled  with  people. 

“ Messieurs,”  said  the  prince,  “ his  Majesty  is  about  to 
pay  me  the  honor  of  passing  a day  at  Blois ; I depend 
upon  the  king,  my  nephew,  not  having  to  repent  of  the 
favor  he  does  my  house.” 

“Vive  le  Roi  ! ” cried  all  the  officers  of  the  household, 
with  frantic  enthusiasm,  and  M.  de  Saint-Remy  louder 
than  the  rest. 

Gaston  hung  down  his  head  with  evident  chagrin.  He 
had  all  his  life  been  obliged  to  hear,  or  rather  to  undergo 
this  cry  of  “ Vive  le  Roi ! ” which  passed  over  him.  For 
a long  time,  being  unaccustomed  to  hear  it,  his  ear  had 
had  rest ; and  now  a younger,  more  vivacious,  and  more 
brilliant  royalty  rose  up  before  him,  like  a new  and  a 
more  painful  annoyance. 


THE  MESSENGER. 


21 


Madame  perfectly  understood  the  sufferings  of  that 
timid,  gloomy  heart.  She  rose  from  the  table  ; Monsieur 
imitated  her  mechanically ; and  all  the  domestics,  with  a 
buzzing  like  that  of  several  beehives,  surrounded  Raoul 
for  the  purpose  of  questioning  him. 

Madame  saw  this  movement,  and  called  M.  de  Saint- 
Remy.  “ This  is  not  the  time  for  gossiping,  but  for  work- 
ing,” said  she,  with  the  tone  of  an  angry  housekeeper. 

M.  de  Saint-Remy  hastened  to  bi;eak  the  circle  formed 
by  the  officers  round  Raoul,  so  that  the  latter  was  able 
to  gain  the  antechamber. 

“ Care  will  be  taken  of  that  gentleman,  I hope,”  added 
Madame,  addressing  M.  de  Saint-Remy. 

The  worthy  man  immediately  hastened  after  Raoul. 
“Madame  desires  refreshment  to  be  offered  to  you,” 
said  he ; “ and  there  is,  besides,  a lodging  for  you  in  the 
castle.” 

“ Thanks,  M.  de  Saint-Remy,”  replied  Raoul ; “ but  you 
know  how  anxious  I must  be  to  pay  my  duty  to  Monsieur 
the  Count,  my  father.” 

“ That  is  true,  that  is  true,  M.  Raoul ; present  him,  at 
the  same  time,  my  humble  respects,  if  you  please.” 

Raoul  thus  once  more  got  rid  of  the  old  gentleman, 
and  pursued  his  way.  As  he  was  passing  under  the 
porch,  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  a soft  voice  called 
him  from  the  depths  of  an  obscure  path. 

“M.  Raoul ! ” said  the  voice. 

The  young  man  turned  round  surprised,  and  saw  a 
dark-complexioned  girl,  who  with  a finger  on  her  lip  held 
out  her  other  hand  to  him.  This  girl  was  perfectly 
unknown  to  him. 


22 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

THE  INTERVIEW. 

Eaoul  made  one  step  towards  the  girl  who  thus  called 
him. 

“But  my  horse,  Madame V9  said  he. 

“ Oh  ! you  are  terribly  embarrassed  ! Go  out  that  way, 
— there  is  a shed  in  the  outer  court;  fasten  your  horse, 
and  return  quickly.” 

“I  obey,  Madame.” 

Eaoul  was  not  four  minutes  in  performing  what  he  had 
been  directed  to  do ; he  returned  to  the  little  door,  where, 
in  darkness,  he  found  his  mysterious  conductress  waiting 
for  him  on  the  first  steps  of  a winding  staircase. 

“Are  you  brave  enough  to  follow  me,  Monsieur  knight- 
errant  % 99  asked  the  girl,  laughing  at  the  momentary  hesi- 
tation Eaoul  had  manifested. 

The  latter  replied  by  springing  up  the  dark  staircase 
after  her.  They  thus  climbed  up  three  stories,  he  behind 
her,  touching  with  his  hands,  wThen  he  felt  for  the  balus- 
ter, a silk  dress  which  rubbed  against  each  side  of  the 
staircase.  At  every  false  step  made  by  Eaoul,  his  con- 
ductress cried,  “ Hush  ! ” and  held  out  to  him  a soft  and 
perfumed  hand. 

“ One  would  mount  thus  to  the  donjon  of  the  castle 
without  being  conscious  of  fatigue,”  said  Eaoul. 

“All  which  means,  Monsieur,  that  you  are  very  much 
perplexed,  very  tired,  and  very  uneasy.  But  be  of  good 
cheer,  Monsieur ; here  we  are.” 


THE  INTERVIEW. 


23 


The  girl  threw  open  a door,  which  immediately,  with- 
out any  transition,  filled  with  a flood  of  light  the  landing 
of  the  staircase,  at  the  top  of  which  Raoul  appeared, 
holding  fast  by  the  balustrade. 

The  girl  walked  on  ; he  followed  her.  She  entered  a 
chamber  ; he  did  the  same. 

As  soon  as  he  was  fairly  in  the  net  he  heard  a loud 
cry,  and  turning  round  saw  at  two  paces  from  him,  with 
her  hands  clasped  and  her  eyes  closed,  that  beautiful  fair 
girl  with  blue  eyes  and  white  shoulders,  who  recognizing 
him  had  called  him  Raoul. 

He  saw  her,  and  divined  at  once  so  much  love  and  so 
much  joy  in  the  expression  of  her  countenance,  that  he 
sank  on  his  knees  in  the  middle  of  the  chamber,  murmur- 
ing, on  his  part,  the  name  of  Louise. 

“ Ah  ! Montalais  ! Montalais  ! ” sighed  she,  “ it  is  very 
wicked  to  deceive  one  so.” 

“ Who  ? I ] I have  deceived  you  ] ” 

“Yes;  you  told  me  you  would  go  down  to  inquire  the 
news,  and  you  have  brought  up  Monsieur.” 

“Well,  I was  obliged  to  do  so;  how  else  could  he  have 
received  the  letter  you  wrote  him  ? ” 

And  she  pointed  with  her  finger  to  the  letter  which 
was  still  upon  the  table.  Raoul  made  a step  to  take  it. 
Louise,  more  rapid,  although  she  had  sprung  forward 
with  a very  noticeable,  graceful  hesitation,  reached  out 
her  hand  to  stop  him.  Raoul  came  in  contact  with  that 
warm  and  trembling  hand,  took  it  within  his  own,  and 
carried  it  so  respectfully  to  his  lips  that  he  might  be  said 
to  have  deposited  a sigh  upon  it  rather  than  a kiss. 

In  the  mean  time  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  had  taken 
the  letter,  folded  it  carefully,  as  women  do,  in  three  folds, 
and  slipped  it  into  her  bosom. 

“ Don’t  be  afraid,  Louise,”  said  she ; “ Monsieur  will 


24 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


no  more  venture  to  take  it  hence  than  the  defunct  king 
Louis  XIII.  ventured  to  take  billets  from  the  corsage  of 
Mademoiselle  de  Hautefort.” 

Raoul  blushed  at  seeing  the  smile  of  the  two  girls ; 
and  he  did  not  remark  that  the  hand  of  Louise  remained 
in  his. 

“There !”  said  Montalais,  “you  have  pardoned  me, 
Louise,  for  having  brought  Monsieur  to  you  ; and  you, 
Monsieur,  bear  me  no  malice  for  having  followed  me  to 
see  Mademoiselle.  Now  then,  peace  being  made,  let  us 
chat  like  old  friends.  Present  me,  Louise,  to  M.  de 
Bragelonne.” 

“Monsieur  the  Viscount,”  said  Louise,  with  her  quiet 
grace  and  ingenuous  smile,  “ I have  the  honor  to  present 
to  you  Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais,  maid  of  honor  to 
her  royal  Highness  Madame,  and  moreover  my  friend,  — 
my  excellent  friend.” 

Raoul  bowed  ceremoniously. 

“ And  me,  Louise,”  said  he,  — “ will  you  not  present  me 
also  to  Mademoiselle  ] ” 

“ Oh,  she  knows  you ; she  knows  all ! ” 

This  unguarded  expression  made  Montalais  laugh  and 
Raoul  sigh  with  happiness,  for  he  interpreted  it  thus  : 
“ She  knows  all  our  love.” 

“ The  ceremonies  being  over,  Monsieur  the  Viscount,” 
said  Montalais,  “ take  a chair,  and  tell  us  quickly  the 
news  you  bring  flying  thus.” 

“ Mademoiselle,  it  is  no  longer  a secret ; the  king,  on 
his  way  to  Poitiers,  will  stop  at  Blois,  to  visit  his  royal 
Highness.” 

“ The  king  here ! ” exclaimed  Montalais,  clapping  her 
hands.  “What!  are  we  going  to  see  the  court'?  Only 
think,  Louise,  — the  real  court  from  Paris  ! Oh,  good 
heavens  ! But  when  will  this  happen,  Monsieur  ? ” 


THE  INTERVIEW. 


25 


“ Perhaps  this  evening,  Mademoiselle ; at  latest,  to- 
morrow.” 

Montalais  lifted  her  shoulders  in  sign  of  vexation. 

“No  time  to  get  ready  ! No  time  to  prepare  a single 
dress ! We  are  as  far  behind  the  fashions  as  the  Poles. 
We  shall  look  like  portraits  of  the  times  of  Henry  IV. 
Ah,  Monsieur,  this  is  sad  news  you  bring  us  ! ” 

“ But,  Mesdemoiselles,  you  will  be  still  beautiful.” 

“That’s  stale!  Yes,  we  shall  be  / always  beautiful, 
because  Nature  has  made  us  passable ; but  we  shall  be 
ridiculous,  because  the  fashion  will  have  forgotten  us. 
Alas ! ridiculous  ! They  will  think  me  ridiculous,  — 
me!” 

“ Who  are  they  ? ” said  Louise,  innocently. 

“ ‘ Who  are  they  ’ ? You  are  a strange  girl,  my  dear. 
Is  that  a question  to  put  to  me?  They  means  every- 
body; they  means  the  courtiers,  the  nobles;  they  means 
the  king.” 

“ Pardon  me,  my  good  friend ; but  as  here  every  one 
is  accustomed  to  see  us  as  we  are  — ” 

“ Granted ; but  that  is  about  to  change,  and  we  shall 
be  ridiculous,  even  for  Blois ; for  close  to  us  will  be  seen 
the  fashions  from  Paris,  and  they  will  perceive  that  we 
are  in  the  fashion  of  Blois ! It  is  enough  to  make  one 
wild ! ” 

“ Console  yourself,  Mademoiselle.” 

“ Well,  so  let  it  be  ! After  all,  so  much  the  worse 
for  those  who  do  not  find  me  to  their  taste  ! ” said 
Montalais,  philosophically. 

“ They  would  be  very  difficult  to  please,”  replied 
Baoul,  faithful  to  his  regular  system  of  gallantry. 

“ Thank  you,  Monsieur  the  Viscount.  We  were  saying, 
then,  that  the  king  is  coming  to  Blois  % ” 

“With  all  the  court.” 


26  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

“ Mesdemoiselles  de  Mancini,  will  they  be  with  them?” 
“No,  certainly  not.” 

“ But  as  the  king,  it  is  said,  cannot  do  without  Made- 
moiselle Marie  ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle,  the  king  must  do  without  her.  Mon- 
sieur the  Cardinal  will  have  it  so.  He  has  exiled  his 
nieces  to  Brouage.” 

“ He  ! — the  hypocrite  ! ” 

“ Hush  ! ” said  Louise,  pressing  a finger  on  her  friend’s 
rosy  lips. 

“ Bah  ! nobody  can  hear  me.  I say  that  old  Mazarino 
Mazarini  is  a hypocrite,  who  burns  impatiently  to  make 
his  niece  queen  of  France.” 

“ That  cannot  be,  Mademoiselle,  since  Monsieur  the 
Cardinal,  on  the  contrary,  has  brought  about  the  mar- 
riage of  his  Majesty  with  the  Infanta  Maria  Theresa.” 
Montalais  looked  Baoul  full  in  the  face,  and  said  : 
“And  do  you  Parisians  believe  in  these  tales?  Well! 
here  in  Blois  we  are  a little  more  cunning  than  you.” 

“ Mademoiselle,  if  the  king  goes  beyond  Poitiers  and 
sets  out  for  Spain ; if  the  articles  of  the  marriage  con- 
tract are  agreed  upon  by  Don  Luis  de  Haro  and  his 
Eminence,  — you  must  plainly  perceive  that  it  is  no 
longer  child’s  play.” 

“ All  very  fine  ! but  the  king  is  king,  I suppose  ? ” 
“No  doubt,  Mademoiselle;  but  the  cardinal  is  the 
cardinal.” 

“ The  king  is  not  a man,  then  ! And  he  does  not  love 
Marie  Mancini  ? ” 

“ He  adores  her.” 

“ Well,  he  will  marry  her  then.  We  shall  have  war 
with  Spain.  M.  Mazarin  will  spend  a few  of  the  millions 
he  has  put  away;  our  gentlemen  will  perform  prodigies 
of  valor  in  their  encounters  with  the  proud  Castilians, 


THE  INTERVIEW. 


27 


and  many  of  them  will  return  crowned  with  laurels,  to 
be  recrowned  by  us  with  myrtles.  Now,  that  is  my  view 
of  politics.’’ 

“ Montalais,  you  are  wild  ! ” said  Louise,  “ and  every 
exaggeration  attracts  you  as  light  does  a moth.” 

“ Louise,  you  are  so  extremely  reasonable  that  you 
will  never  know  how  to  love.” 

“ Oh ! ” said  Louise,  in  a tone  of  tender  reproach, 
“ don’t  you  see,  Montalais?  The  queen-mother  desires 
to  marry  her  son  to  the  infanta ; would  you  wish  the 
king  to  disobey  his  mother  ? Is  it  for  a royal  heart  like 
his  to  give  a bad  example  ? When  parents  forbid  love, 
love  must  be  banished.” 

And  Louise  sighed.  Raoul  cast  down  his  eyes,  with 
an  expression  of  constraint.  Montalais,  on  her  part, 
laughed  aloud. 

“ Well,  I have  no  parents ! ” said  she. 

“ You  are  acquainted,  without  doubt,  with  the  state 
of  health  of  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  ? ” said  Louise,  after 
breathing  that  sigh  which  had  revealed  so  many  griefs  in 
its  eloquent  utterance. 

“No,  Mademoiselle,”  replied  Raoul,  “ I have  not  yet 
paid  my  respects  to  my  father  ; I was  going  to  his  house 
when  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  so  kindly  stopped  me. 
I hope  the  count  is  well.  You  have  heard  nothing  to 
the  contrary,  have  you  ? ” 

“ No,  M.  Raoul,  — nothing,  thank  God  ! ” 

Here,  for  several  instants,  ensued  a silence,  during 
which  two  spirits  which  followed  the  same  idea  com- 
municated perfectly,  without  even  the  assistance  of  a 
single  glance. 

“ Oh,  heavens ! ” exclaimed  Montalais,  in  a fright ; 
“ there  is  somebody  coming  up.” 

“ Who  can  it  be  ? ” said  Louise,  rising  in  great  agitation. 


28 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Mesdemoiselles,  I inconvenience  yon  very  much.  I 
have,  without  doubt,  been  very  indiscreet,’’  stammered 
Raoul,  very  ill  at  ease. 

“ It  is  a heavy  step,”  said  Louise. 

“ Ah  ! if  it  is  only  M.  Malicorne,”  added  Montalais, 
“ do  not  disturb  yourselves.” 

Louise  and  Raoul  looked  at  each  other  to  inquire  who 
M.  Malicorne  could  be. 

“ There  is  no  occasion  to  mind  him,”  continued  Mon- 
talais ; “ he  is  not  jealous.” 

“ But,  Mademoiselle  — ” said  Raoul. 

“ Yes,  I understand.  Well,  he  is  as  discreet  as  I am.” 

“ Good  heavens ! ” cried  Louise,  who  had  applied  her 
ear  to  the  door,  which  had  been  left  ajar  ; “ it  is  my 
mother’s  step ! ” 

“ Madame  de  Saint-Remy  ! Where  shall  I hide  my- 
self?” exclaimed  Raoul,  catching  at  the  dress  of  Monta- 
lais, who  looked  quite  bewildered. 

“ Yes,”  said  she ; “ yes,  I know  the  clicking  of  those 
pattens ! It  is  our  excellent  mother.  Monsieur  the 
Viscount,  what  a pity  it  is  the  window  looks  upon  a stone 
pavement,  and  that  fifty  feet  below  it ! ” 

Raoul  glanced  at  the  balcony  in  despair.  Louise 
seized  his  arm,  and  held  it  tight. 

“ Oh,  how  silly  I am  ! ” said  Montalais;  “ have  I not 
the  robe-of-ceremony  closet  ? It  looks  as  if  it  were  made 
on  purpose.” 

It  was  quite  time  to  act ; Madame  de  Saint-Remy  was 
coming  up  at  a quicker  pace  than  usual.  She  gained  the 
landing  at  the  moment  when  Montalais,  as  in  all  scenes 
of  surprises,  shut  the  closet  by  leaning  with  her  back 
against  the  door. 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  “ you  are  here, 
are  you,  Louise  ? ” 


THE  INTERVIEW. 


29 


“ Yes,  Madame,”  replied  she,  more  pale  than  if  she  had 
committed  a great  crime. 

“ Well,  well  ! ” 

“Pray  be  seated,  Madame,”  said  Montalais,  offering 
her  a chair,  which  she  placed  so  that  the  back  was 
towards  the  closet. 

“ Thank  you,  Mademoiselle  Aure,  — thank  you.  Come, 
my  child,  be  quick  ! ” 

“ Where  do  you  wish  me  to  go,  Madame  1 ” 

“ Why,  home,  to  be  sure ; have  you  not  to  prepare 
your  toilette  1 ” 

“ What  did  you  say  ” cried  Montalais,  hastening  to 
affect  surprise,  so  fearful  was  she  that  Louise  would  in 
some  way  commit  herself. 

“You  don’t  know  the  news,  then'?”  said  Madame  de 
Saint-Bemy. 

“What  news,  Madame,  is  it  possible  for  two  girls  to 
learn  up  in  this  dove-cot  *?  ” 

“ What  ! have  you  seen  nobody  % ” 

“Madame,  you  talk  in  enigmas,  and  you  torment  us 
at  a slow  fire  ! ” cried  Montalais,  who,  terrified  at  seeing 
Louise  become  paler  and  paler,  did  not  know  to  what 
saint  to  put  up  her  vows. 

At  length  she  caught  an  eloquent  look  of  her  com- 
panion’s, one  of  those  looks  which  would  convey  intelli- 
gence to  a brick  wall.  Louise  directed  her  attention  to 
a hat,  — Raoul’s  unlucky  hat,  which  was  set  out  in  all 
its  feathery  splendor  upon  the  table. 

Montalais  sprang  towards  it,  and,  seizing  it  with  her 
left  hand,  passed  it  behind  her  into  the  right,  concealing 
it  as  she  was  speaking. 

“Well,”  said  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  “a  courier  has 
arrived  announcing  the  approach  of  the  king.  There, 
Mesdemoiselles ; there  is  something  to  make  you  put  on 
your  best  looks.” 


30 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Quick,  quick  ! ” cried  Montalais.  “ Follow  Madame 
your  mother,  Louise ; and  leave  me  to  get  ready  my 
dress  of  ceremony.” 

Louise  arose  ; her  mother  took  her  by  the  hand  and 
led  her  out  on  to  the  landing. 

“ Come  along,”  said  she ; then  adding  in  a lower  voice, 
“ When  I forbid  you  to  come  to  the  apartment  of  Mon- 
talais, why  do  you  do  so  ] ” 

“ Madame,  she  is  my  friend.  Besides,  I was  but  just 
come.” 

“ Did  you  see  nobody  concealed  while  you  were 
there?” 

“ Madame  ! ” 

“ I saw  a man’s  hat,  I tell  you,  — the  hat  of  that  fellow, 
that  good-for-nothing  ! ” 

“ Madame  ! ” repeated  Louise. 

“ Of  that  do-nothing  De  Malicorne  ! A maid  of  honor 
to  have  such  company,  — fie  ! fie  ! ” And  their  voices 
were  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  narrow  staircase. 

Montalais  had  not  missed  a word  of  this  conversation, 
which  echo  conveyed  to  her  as  if  through  a tunnel.  She 
shrugged  her  shoulders  on  seeing  Raoul,  who  had  listened 
likewise,  issue  from  the  closet. 

“ Poor  Montalais,”  said  she,  “ the  victim  of  friend- 
ship ! Poor  Malicorne,  the  victim  of  love ! ” 

She  stopped  on  viewing  the  tragi-comic  face  of  Raoul, 
who  was  vexed  at  having,  in  one  day,  surprised  so  many 
secrets. 

“ Oh,  Mademoiselle  ! ” said  he,  “ how  can  we  repay 
your  kindnesses  ? ” 

61  Oh,  we  will  balance  accounts  some  day,”  said  she. 
“ For  the  present,  begone,  M.  de  Bragelonne,  for  Madame 
de  Saint-Remy  is  not  over  indulgent ; and  any  indiscretion 
on  her  part  might  bring  hither  a domiciliary  visit,  which 
would  be  disagreeable  to  all  parties.  Adieu  ! ” 


THE  INTERVIEW. 


31 


“ But  Louise  — how  shall  I know  — ” 

“ Begone ! begone  ! King  Louis  XI.  knew  very  well 
what  he  was  about  when  he  invented  the  post.” 

“ Alas  ! ” sighed  Raoul. 

“ And  am  I not  here,  — I,  who  am  worth  all  the  posts 
in  the  kingdom  1 Quick,  I say,  to  horse  ! so  that  if 
Madame  de  Saint-Re  my  should  return  for  the  purpose  of 
preaching  me  a lesson  on  morality,  she  may  not  find 
you  here.” 

“ She  wrould  tell  my  father,  would  she  not  ? ” mur- 
mured Raoul. 

“ And  you  would  be  scolded.  Ah,  Viscount,  it  is  very 
plain  you  come  from  court  ; you  are  as  timid  as  the  king. 
Peste  ! at  Blois  we  contrive  better  than  that,  to  do  with- 
out Papa’s  consent.  Ask  Malicorne  else  ! ” 

And  at  these  words  the  gay  girl  pushed  Raoul  out  of 
the  room  by  the  shoulders.  He  glided  swiftly  down  to 
the  porch,  regained  his  horse,  mounted,  and  set  off  as  if 
he  had  had  Monsieur’s  eight  guards  at  his  heels. 


32 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FATHER  AND  SON. 

Raoul  followed  the  well-known  road,  so  dear  to  his 
memory,  which  led  from  Blois  to  the  residence  of  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere. 

The  reader  will  dispense  with  a second  description  of 
that  habitation  ; he,  perhaps,  has  been  with  ns  there 
before  and  knows  it.  Only,  since  our  last  journey  thither, 
the  walls  had  taken  a grayer  tint,  and  the  brick-work 
assumed  a more  harmonious  copper  tone ; the  trees  had 
grown,  and  many  that  then  only  stretched  their  slender 
branches  along  the  tops  of  the  hedges,  now,  bushy, 
strong,  and  luxuriant,  cast  around,  beneath  boughs 
swollen  with  sap,  a thick  shade  of  flowers  or  fruit  for  the 
benefit  of  the  traveller. 

Raoul  perceived,  from  a distance,  the  sharp  roof,  the  twTo 
little  turrets,  the  dove-cot  in  the  elms,  and  the  flights  of 
pigeons,  who  wheeled  incessantly  around  that  brick  cone, 
seemingly  without  power  to  quit  it,  like  the  sweet  mem- 
ories that  hover  round  a spirit  at  peace. 

As  he  approached,  he  heard  the  noise  of  the  pulleys 
which  grated  under  the  weight  of  the  huge  water- 
buckets.  He  also  fancied  he  heard  the  melancholy  moan- 
ing of  the  water  which  falls  back  again  into  the  wells,  — 
a sad,  funereal,  solemn  sound,  that  strikes  the  ear  of 
the  child  and  the  poet, — both  dreamers, — which  the 
English  call  “ splash  ; ” Arabian  poets,  “ gasgachau  ; ” 
and  which  we  Frenchmen,  who  would  be  poets,  can  only 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


33 


translate  by  a paraphrase,  “the  noise  of  water  falling 
into  water/ 7 

It  was  more  than  a year  since  Raoul  had  been  to  visit 
his  father.  He  had  passed  the  whole  time  in  the  house- 
hold of  Monsieur  the  Prince.  In  fact,  after  all  the  com- 
motions of  the  Fronde,  of  the  early  period  of  which  we 
formerly  attempted  to  give  a sketch,  Louis  de  Conde  had 
made  a public,  solemn,  and  frank  reconciliation  writh  the 
court.  During  all  the  time  that  the  rupture  between  the 
king  and  the  prince  had  lasted,  the  prince,  who  had  long 
entertained  a great  regard  for  Bragelonne,  had  in  vain 
offered  him  advantages  of  the  most  dazzling  kind  for  a 
young  man.  The  Comte  de  la  Fere,  still  faithful  to  his 
principles  of  loyalty  and  royalty  one  day  developed 
before  his  son  in  the  vaults  of  St.  Denis,  — the  Comte 
de  la  Fere,  in  the  name  of  his  son,  had  always  declined 
them.  Moreover,  instead  of  following  M.  de  Conde  in 
his  rebellion,  the  viscount  had  followed  M.  de  Turenne, 
fighting  for  the  king.  Then,  when  M.  de  Turenne,  in 
his  turn,  had  appeared  to  abandon  the  royal  cause,  he 
had  quitted  M.  de  Turenne,  as  he  had  quitted  M.  de 
Conde.  It  resulted  from  this  invariable  line  of  conduct, 
that,  as  Conde  and  Turenne  had  never  been  conquerors 
of  each  other  except  under  the  standard  of  the  king, 
Raoul,  although  so  young,  had  ten  victories  inscribed  on 
his  list  of  services,  and  not  one  defeat  from  which  his 
bravery  or  conscience  had  to  suffer. 

Raoul,  therefore,  had,  in  compliance  with  the  wish  of 
his  father,  served  obstinately  and  passively  the  fortunes 
of  Louis  XIV.,  in  spite  of  the  tergiversations  which 
were  endemic,  and,  it  might  be  said,  inevitable,  at  that 
period. 

M.  de  Conde,  on  being  restored  to  favor,  had  at  once 
availed  himself  of  all  the  privileges  of  the  amnesty,  to 
VOL.  i.  — 3 


34 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


ask  for  many  things  back  again  which  had  been  granted 
him  before,  and,  among  others,  Raoul.  M.  de  la  Fere, 
with  his  invariable  good  sense,  had  immediately  sent  him 
again  to  the  prince. 

A year,  then,  had  passed  away  since  the  separation  of  the 
father  and  son.  A few  letters  had  softened,  but  not  re- 
moved, the  pains  of  absence.  We  have  seen  that  Raoul 
had  left  at  Blois  another  love  in  addition  to  filial  love. 
But  let  us  do  him  this  justice,  — if  it  had  not  been  for 
chance  and  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  two  tempting 
demons,  Raoul,  after  delivering  his  message,  would  have 
galloped  off  towards  his  father’s  house,  turning  his  head 
round,  perhaps,  but  without  stopping  for  a single  in- 
stant, even  if  he  had  seen  Louise  holding  out  her  arms 
to  him. 

So  the  first  part  of  the  distance  was  given  by  Raoul  to 
regretting  the  past  which  he  had  been  forced  to  quit  so 
quickly,  — that  is  to  say,  to  his  lady-love  ; and  the  other 
part  to  the  friend  towards  whom  he  was  travelling  so 
much  too  slowly  for  his  wishes. 

Raoul  found  the  garden-gate  open,  and  rode  straight 
in,  without  regarding  the  long  arms,  raised  in  anger,  of 
an  old  man  dressed  in  a jacket  of  violet-colored  wool,  and 
a large  cap  of  old  faded  velvet. 

The  old  man,  who  was  weeding  with  his  hands  a bed  of 
dwarf  roses  and  marguerites,  was  indignant  at  seeing  a 
horse  thus  traversing  his  sanded  and  nicely  raked  walks. 
He  even  ventured  a vigorous  “ Humph ! ” which  made 
the  cavalier  turn  round.  Then  there  was  a change  of 
scene  ; for  no  sooner  had  he  caught  sight  of  Raoul’s  face, 
than  the  old  man  sprang  up  and  set  off  in  the  direction 
of  the  house,  amid  intermittent  growlings,  which  he  meant 
to  be  paroxysms  of  wild  delight. 

When  arrived  at  the  stables,  Raoul  gave  his  horse  to  a 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


35 


little  lackey,  and  sprang  up  the  perron  with  an  ardor  that 
would  have  delighted  the  heart  of  his  father. 

He  crossed  the  antechamber,  the  dining-room,  and  the 
salon  without  meeting  with  any  one  ; at  length,  on  reach- 
ing the  door  of  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere’s  apartment,  he 
rapped  impatiently,  and  entered  almost  without  waiting 
for  the  word  “ Enter ! ” which  was  thrown  to  him  by  a 
voice  at  once  sweet  and  serious.  The  count  was  seated 
at  a table  covered  with  papers  and' books;  he  was  still 
the  noble,  handsome  gentleman  of  former  days,  but  time 
had  given  to  this  nobleness  and  beauty  a more  solemn 
and  distinct  character.  A brow  white  and  void  of  wrin- 
kles, beneath  his  long  hair,  now  more  white  than  black ; 
an  eye  piercing  and  mild,  under  the  lids  of  a young  man  ; 
his  moustache,  fine  and  but  slightly  grizzled,  waved  over 
lips  which  were  of  a pure  and  delicate  model,  as  if  they 
had  never  been  curled  by  mortal  passions  ; a shape  straight 
and  supple  ; an  irreproachable  but  thin  hand  ; — such  was 
still  the  illustrious  gentleman  whom  so  many  illustrious 
mouths  had  praised  under  the  name  of  Athos.  tie  was 
engaged  in  correcting  the  pages  of  a manuscript  book, 
entirely  filled  by  his  own  hand. 

Raoul  seized  his  father  by  the  shoulders,  by  the  neck, 
as  he  could,  and  embraced  him  so  tenderly  and  so  rapidly 
that  the  count  had  neither  strength  nor  time  to  disengage 
himself,  or  to  overcome  his  paternal  emotions. 

“ What ! you  here,  Raoul — you!  Is  it  possible!” 
said  he. 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  Monsieur,  what  joy  to  see  you  once 
again ! ” 

“ But  you  don’t  answer  me,  Viscount.  Have  you  leave 
ef  absence,  or  has  some  misfortune  happened  at  Paris  h ” 

“ Thank  God,  Monsieur,”  replied  Raoul,  calming  him- 
self by  degrees,  “ nothing  has  happened  but  what  is  fortu; 


86 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


nate.  The  king  is  going  to  be  married,  as  I had  the  honor 
of  informing  you  in  my  last  letter,  and,  on  his  way  to 
Spain,  he  will  pass  through  Blois.” 

“ To  pay  a visit  to  Monsieur  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  the  Count.  So,  fearing  to  find  him 
unprepared,  or  wishing  to  be  particularly  polite  to  him, 
Monsieur  the  Prince  sent  me  forward  to  have  the  lodgings 
ready.” 

“ You  have  seen  Monsieur ! ” asked  the  viscount, 
eagerly. 

“ I have  had  that  honor.” 

“ At  the  castle  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  Raoul,  casting  down  his  eyes, 
because,  no  doubt,  he  had  felt  there  was  something  more 
than  curiosity  in  the  count’s  inquiries. 

“ Ah,  indeed,  Viscount ! Accept  my  compliments.” 
Raoul  bowed. 

“ But  you  have  seen  some  one  else  at  Blois  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  I saw  her  royal  Highness  Madame.” 

“ That ’s  very  well ; but  it  is  not  Madame  that  I 
mean.” 

Raoul  colored  deeply,  but  made  no  reply. 

“ You  do  not  appear  to  understand  me,  Monsieur  the 
Viscount,”  persisted  M.  de  la  Here,  without  accenting  his 
words  more  strongly,  but  with  a rather  severer  look. 

“ I understand  you  quite  plainly,  Monsieur,”  replied 
Raoul ; “ and  if  I hesitate  a little  in  my  reply,  you  are 
well  assured  I am  not  seeking  for  a falsehood.” 

“ I know  you  cannot  lie,  and  am  therefore  surprised 
that  you  should  be  so  long  in  saying  yes  or  no.” 

“ I cannot  answer  you  without  understanding  you  well ; 
and  if  I have  understood  you,  you  will  take  my  first 
words  in  ill  part.  You  will  be  displeased,  no  doubt, 
Monsieur  the  Count,  because  I have  seen  — ” 


FATHER  AND  SON. 


37 


“ Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  — have  you  not  h ” 

“ It  was  of  her  you  meant  to  speak,  I know  very  well, 
Monsieur,”  said  Eaoul,  with  inexpressible  sweetness. 

“ And  I ask  you  if  you  have  seen  her.” 

“ Monsieur,  I was  ignorant,  when  I entered  the  castle, 
that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  was  there ; it  wras  only 
on  my  return,  after  I had  performed  my  mission,  that 
chance  brought  us  together.  I have  had  the  honor  of 
paying  my  respects  to  her.” 

“ But  what  do  you  call  the  chance  that  led  you  into 
the  presence  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  ? ” 
“Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  Monsieur.” 

“ And  who  is  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  ? ” 

“ A young  lady  I did  not  know  before,  w7hom  I had 
never  seen.  She  is  maid  of  honor  to  Madame.” 

“ Monsieur  the  Viscount,  I will  push  my  interrogatory  no 
further,  and  reproach  myself  with  having  carried  it  so  far. 
I had  desired  you  to  avoid  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere, 
and  not  to  see  her  without  my  permission.  Oh  ! I am 
quite  sure  you  have  told  me  the  truth,  and  that  you  took 
no  measures  to  approach  her.  Chance  has  done  me  this 
injury  ; I do  not  accuse  you  of  it.  I will  be  content, 
then,  with  what  I formerly  said  to  you  concerning  this 
young  lady.  I do  not  reproach  her  with  anything,  — 
God  is  my  witness;  only  it  is  not  my  intention  or  wish 
that  you  should  frequent  her  place  of  residence.  I beg 
you  once  more,  my  dear  Raoul,  to  understand  that.” 

It  was  plain  the  limpid,  pure  eye  of  Raoul  was  troubled 
at  this  speech. 

“ Now,  my  friend,”  said  the  count,  with  his  soft  smile 
and  in  his  customary  tone,  “ let  us  talk  of  other  matters. 
You  are  returning,  perhaps,  to  your  duty  ? ” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  I have  no  duty  for  to-day,  except  the 
pleasure  of  remaining  with  you.  The  prince  kindly  ap* 


38 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


pointed  me  no  other  duty  than  that,  which  was  so  much 
in  accord  with  my  wish.” 

“ Is  the  king  well  ] ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“ And  Monsieur  the  Prince  also  ? ” 

“ As  usual,  Monsieur.” 

The  count  forgot  to  inquire  after  Mazarin ; that  was 
an  old  habit. 

“ Well,  Raoul,  since  you  are  entirely  mine,  I will  give 
up  my  whole  day  to  you.  Embrace  me  — again,  again  ! 
You  are  at  home,  Viscount ! Ah  ! there  is  our  old  Grh 
maud  ! Come  in,  Grimaud ; Monsieur  the  Viscount  is 
desirous  of  embracing  you  likewise.” 

The  good  old  man  did  not  require  to  be  twice  told ; he 
rushed  in  with  open  arms,  Raoul  meeting  him  half-way. 

“ Now,, if  you  please,  we  will  go  into  the  garden,  Raoul. 
I will  show  you  the  new  lodging  I have  had  prepared  for 
you  during  your  leave  of  absence ; and,  while  examining 
the  last  winter’s  plantations,  and  two  saddle-horses  I 
have  just  procured  by  exchange,  you  will  give  me  all  the 
news  of  our  friends  in  Paris.” 

The  count  closed  his  manuscript,  took  the  young  man’s 
arm,  and  went  out  into  the  garden  with  him. 

Grimaud  looked  at  Raoul  with  a melancholy  air  as  the 
young  man  passed  out;  observing  that  his  head  nearly 
touched  the  traverse  of  the  doorway,  stroking  his  white 
royale , he  allowed  the  single  word  “ Grown  ! ” to  escape 
him. 


CROPOLI. 


39 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  SOMETHING  WILL  BE  SAID  OF  CROPOLI,  OF 
CROPOLE,  AND  OF  A GREAT  UNKNOWN  PAINTER. 

While  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  with  Raoul  visits  the  new 
buildings  he  has  had  erected,  and  the  new  horses  he  has 
bought,  with  the  reader’s  permission  we  will  lead  him 
back  to  the  city  of  Blois,  and  make  him  a witness  of  the 
unaccustomed  activity  which  pervades  that  city. 

It  was  in  the  hotels  that  the  surprise  of  the  news 
brought  by  Raoul  was  most  sensibly  felt. 

In  fact,  the  king  and  the  court  at  Blois,  — that  is  to  say, 
a hundred  horsemen,  ten  carriages,  two  hundred  horses, 
as  many  lackeys  as  masters,  — where  was  this  crowd  to 
be  housed1?  Where  were  to  be  lodged  all  the  gentry  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  would  flock  in  in  two  or  three 
hours  after  the  news  had  enlarged  the  circle  of  its  report, 
like  the  increasing  circumferences  produced  by  a stone 
thrown  into  a placid  lake1? 

Blois,  as  peaceful  in  the  morning,  as  we  have  seen,  as 
the  calmest  lake  in  the  world,  at  the  announcement  of 
the  royal  arrival,  was  suddenly  filled  with  buzzing  and 
tumult. 

All  the  servants  of  the  castle,  under  the  inspection  of 
the  officers,  were  sent  into  the  city  in  quest  of  provisions ; 
and  ten  horsemen  were  despatched  to  the  preserves  of 
Chambord  to  seek  for  game,  to  the  fisheries  of  Beuvron 
for  fish,  and  to  the  gardens  of  Chaverny  for  fruits  and 
flowers. 


40 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Precious  tapestries,  and  lustres  with  great  gilt  chains 
were  drawn  from  the  wardrobes ; an  army  of  the  poor 
were  engaged  in  sweeping  the  courts  and  washing  the 
stone  fronts,  while  their  wives  went  in  droves  to  the 
meadows  beyond  the  Loire,  to  gather  green  boughs  and 
field-flowers.  The  whole  city,  not  to  be  behind  in  this 
luxury  of  cleanliness,  assumed  its  best  toilette,  with  the 
help  of  brushes,  brooms,  and  water. 

The  kennels  of  the  upper  city,  swollen  by  these  con- 
tinued outpourings,  became  rivers  at  the  lower  part  of  the 
city  ; and  the  pavement  — generally  very  muddy,  it  must 
be  allowed  — took  a clean  face,  and  absolutely  shone  in 
the  friendly  rays  of  the  sun. 

Next  the  music  was  to  be  provided;  drawers  were 
emptied  ; the  shopkeepers  had  a glorious  trade  in  wax, 
ribbons,  and  sword-knots  ; housekeepers  laid  in  stores  of 
bread,  meat,  and  spices.  And  now  numbers  of  the  citi- 
zens, whose  houses  were  furnished  as  if  for  a siege,  having 
nothing  more  to  do,  donned  their  festive  clothes,  and 
directed  their  course  towards  the  city  gate,  in  order  to 
be  the  first  to  signal  or  see  the  cortege.  They  knew  very 
well  that  the  king  would  not  arrive  before  night,  perhaps 
not  before  the  next  morning.  But  what  is  expectation 
but  a kind  of  folly,  and  what  is  that  folly  but  an  excess 
of  hope  ? 

In  the  lower  city,  at  scarcely  a hundred  paces  from 
the  Castle  of  the  States,  between  the  mall  and  the  castle, 
in  a sufficiently  handsome  street,  then  called  Rue  Vieille, 
and  which  must,  in  fact,  have  been  very  old,  stood  a ven- 
erable edifice,  with  pointed  gables,  of  squat  and  large 
dimensions,  ornamented  with  three  windows  looking  into 
the  street  on  the  first  floor,  with  two  in  the  second,  and 
with  a little  bull's-eye  in  the  third. 

On  the  sides  of  this  triangle  had  recently  been  constructed 


CBOPOLI. 


41 


a parallelogram  of  considerable  size,  which  encroached  upon 
the  street  remorselessly,  according  to  the  familiar  cus- 
tom of  the  building-inspectors  of  that  period.  The  street 
was  narrowed  by  a quarter  by  it,  but  then  the  house 
was  enlarged  by  a half;  and  was  not  that  a sufficient 
compensation  % 

Tradition  said  that  this  house  with  the  pointed  gables 
was  inhabited,  in  the  time  of  Henry  III.,  by  a councillor 
of  State  whom  Queen  Catherine  came,  some  say  to  visit, 
and  others  to  strangle.  However  that  may  be,  the  good 
lady  must  have  stepped  with  a circumspect  foot  over  the 
threshold  of  this  building. 

After  the  councillor  had  died  — whether  by  strangula- 
tion or  naturally  is  of  no  consequence  — the  house  had 
been  sold,  then  abandoned,  and  lastly  isolated  from  the 
other  houses  of  the  street.  Towards  the  middle  of  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIII.  only,  an  Italian,  named  Cropoli,  es- 
caped from  the  kitchens  of  Marechal  d’Ancre,  came  and 
took  possession  of  this  house.  There  he  established  a 
little  hostelry,  in  which  was  fabricated  a macaroni  so 
delicious  that  people  came  from  miles  round  to  fetch  it 
or  eat  it. 

So  famous  had  the  house  become  for  it,  that,  when 
Marie  de  Medicis  was  a prisoner,  as  we  know,  in  the  castle 
of  Blois,  she  once  sent  for  some. 

It  was  precisely  on  the  day  she  had  escaped  by  the 
famous  window.  The  dish  of  macaroni  was  left  upon  the 
table,  only  just  tasted  by  the  royal  mouth.- 

This  double  prestige  of  a strangulation  and  a mac- 
aroni, conferred  upon  the  triangular  house,  gave  poor 
Cropoli  a fancy  to  grace  his  hostelry  with  a pompous 
title.  But  his  quality  of  an  Italian  was  no  recommenda- 
tion in  these  times,  and  his  small,  well-concealed  fortune 
forbade  attracting  too  much  attention. 


42 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


When  he  found  himself  about  to  die,  which  happened 
in  1643,  just  after  the  death  of  Louis  XIII.,  he  called  to 
him  his  son,  a young  cook  of  great  promise,  and  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  recommended  him  to  preserve  care- 
fully the  secret  of  the  macaroni,  to  Frenchify  his  name, 
and  at  length,  when  the  political  horizon  should  be  cleared 
from  the  clouds  which  obscured  it,  — this  was  practised 
then  as  in  our  day,  — to  order  of  the  nearest  smith  a 
handsome  sign,  upon  which  a famous  painter,  whom  he 
named,  should  design  two  queens’  portraits,  with  these 
words  as  a legend : “ To  the  Medici.” 

The  worthy  Cropoli,  after  these  recommendations,  had 
only  sufficient  time  to  point  out  to  his  young  successor  a 
fireplace,  under  the  slab  of  which  he  had  hidden  a thou- 
sand ten-franc  louis,  and  then  expired. 

Cropoli  the  younger,  like  a man  of  good  heart,  sup- 
ported the  loss  with  resignation,  and  the  gain  without 
insolence.  He  began  by  accustoming  the  public  to 
sound  the  final  i of  his  name  so  little,  that,  by  the  aid  of 
general  complaisance,  he  was  soon  called  nothing  but 
M.  Cropole,  which  is*  quite  a French  name.  He  then 
married,  having  had  in  his  eye  a little  French  girl, 
from  whose  parents  he  extorted  a reasonable  dowry  by 
showing  them  what  there  was  beneath  the  slab  of  the 
fireplace. 

These  two  points  accomplished,  he  went  in  search  of 
the  painter  who  was  to  paint  the  sign  ; and  he  was  soon 
found.  He  was  an  old  Italian,  a rival  of  the  Eaphaels 
and  the  Caracci,  but  an  unfortunate  rival.  He  said  he 
was  of  the  Venetian  school,  doubtless  from  his  fondness 
for  color.  His  works,  of  which  he  had  never  sold  one, 
attracted  the  eye  at  a distance  of  a hundred  paces ; but 
they  so  formidably  displeased  the  citizens  that  he  had 
finished  by  painting  no  more. 


CROPOLI. 


43 


He  boasted  of  having  painted  a bath-room  for  Madame 
la  Marechale  d’Ancre,  and  moaned  over  this  chamber  hav- 
ing been  burnt  at  the  time  of  the  marshal’s  disaster. 

Cropoli,  in  his  character  of  a compatriot,  was  indulgent 
towards  Pittrino,  which  was  the  name  of  the  artist.  Per- 
haps he  had  seen  the  famous  pictures  of  the  bath-room. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  he  held  in  such  esteem,  we  may  say 
in  such  friendship,  the  famous  Pittrino,  that  he  took  him 
into  his  own  house. 

Pittrino,  grateful,  and  fed  with  macaroni,  set  about 
propagating  the  reputation  of  this  national  dish ; and 
from  the  time  of  its  founder,  he  had  rendered,  with  his 
indefatigable  tongue,  signal  services  to  the  house  of 
Cropoli. 

As  he  grew  old  he  attached  himself  to  the  son  as  he 
had  done  to  the  father,  and  by  degrees  became  a kind  of 
overlooker  of  the  house,  in  which  his  remarkable  integ- 
rity, his  acknowledged  sobriety,  his  proverbial  chastity, 
and  a thousand  other  virtues  useless  to  enumerate,  gave 
him  an  eternal  place  by  the  fireside,  with  a right  of  in- 
spection over  the  domestics.  Besides  this,  it  was  he  who 
tasted  the  macaroni,  to  maintain  the  pure  flavor  of  the 
ancient  tradition  ; and  it  must  be  allowed  that  he  never 
permitted  a grain  of  pepper  too  much,  or  an  atom  of  par- 
mesan  too  little.  His  joy  was  at  its  height  on  that  day 
when  called  upon  to  share  the  secret  of  Cropoli  the 
younger,  and  to  paint  the  famous  sign. 

He  was  seen  at  once  rummaging  with  ardor  in  an  old 
box,  in  which  he  found  some  pencils,  a little  gnawed  by 
the  rats,  but  still  passable ; some  colors  in  bladders,  al- 
most dried  up  ; some  linseed-oil  in  a bottle,  and  a palette 
which  had  formerly  belonged  to  Bronzino,  that  diou  de  la 
pit-tour e , as  the  ultramontane  artist,  in  his  ever-young 
enthusiasm,  always  called  him. 


44 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Pittrino  was  puffed  up  with  all  the  joy  of  a rehabilitation. 

He  did  as  Raphael  had  done,  — he  changed  his  style, 
and  painted,  in  the  fashion  of  the  Albanian,  two  god- 
desses rather  than  two  queens.  These  illustrious  ladies 
appeared  so  lovely  on  the  sign,  — they  presented  to  the 
astonished  eyes  such  an  assemblage  of  lilies  and  roses, 
the  enchanting  result  of  the  change  of  style  in  Pittrino, 
— they  assumed  poses  of  sirens  so  Anacreontic,  — that 
the  chief  magistrate,  when  admitted  to  view  this  capital 
piece  in  the  hall  of  Cropoli,  at  once  declared  that  these 
ladies  were  too  handsome,  of  too  animated  a beauty,  to 
figure  as  a sign  in  the  eyes  of  passengers. 

To  Pittrino  he  added  : “ His  royal  Highness  Monsieur, 
who  often  comes  into  our  city,  will  not  be  much  pleased 
to  see  his  illustrious  mother  so  slightly  clothed,  and  he 
will  send  you  to  the  dungeons  of  the  State  ; for,  remem- 
ber, the  heart  of  that  glorious  prince  is  not  always  tender. 
You  must  efface  either  the  two  sirens  or  the  legend,  with- 
out which  I forbid  the  exhibition  of  the  sign.  I say  this 
for  your  sake,  Master  Cropole,  as  well  as  for  yours,  Signor 
Pittrino.” 

What  answer  could  be  made  to  this  % It  was  necessary 
to  thank  the  magistrate  for  his  kindness,  which  Cropole 
did.  But  Pittrino  remained  downcast  and  sad  ; he  felt 
assured  of  what  was  about  to  happen. 

The  edile  was  scarcely  gone  when  Cropole,  crossing  his 
arms,  said,  “ Well,  master,  what  is  to  be  done  % ” 

“ We  must  efface  the  legend,”  said  Pittrino,  in  a 
melancholy  tone.  “ I have  some  excellent  ivory-black  ; 
it  will  be  done  in  a moment,  and  we  will  replace  the 
Medici  by  the  nymphs  or  the  sirens,  whichever  you 
prefer.” 

“ No,”  said  Cropole,  “ the  will  of  my  father  must  be 
carried  out.  My  father  considered  — ” 


CROPOLI. 


45 


“ lie  considered  the  figures  of  the  most  importance,” 
said  Pittrino. 

“He  thought  most  of  the  legend,”  said  Cropole. 

“ The  proof  of  the  importance  in  which  he  held  the 
figures,”  said  Pittrino,  “ is  that  he  desired  they  should 
be  likenesses,  and  they  are  so.” 

“ Yes ; but  if  they  had  not  been  so,  who  would  have 
recognized  them  without  the  legend  1 At  the  present 
day,  even,  when  the  memory  of  the  Blaisois  begins  to  be 
faint  with  regard  to  these  two  celebrated  persons,  who 
would  recognize  Catherine  and  Marie  without  the  words 
‘ To  the  Medici ? '!  ” 

“ But  the  figures  3 ” said  Pittrino,  in  despair  ; for  he 
felt  that  young  Cropole  was  right.  “ I should  not  like 
to  lose  the  fruit  of  my  labor.” 

“ And  I should  not  wish  you  to  be  thrown  into  prison, 
and  myself  into  the  dungeons.” 

“ Let  us  efface  ‘ Medici,’  ” said  Pittrino,  supplicatingly. 
“ No,”  replied  Cropole,  firmly.  “ I have  got  an  idea, 
a sublime  idea, — your  picture  shall  appear,  and  my 
legend  likewise.  Does  not  ‘ Medici ’ mean  ‘ doctor,’  or 
‘ physician/  in  Italian  h ” 

“Yes,  in  the  plural.” 

“ Well,  then,  you  shall  order  another  sign-frame  of  the 
smith  ; you  shall  paint  six  physicians,  and  write  under- 
neath ‘ Aux  Medici/  which  makes  a very  pretty  play 
upon  words.” 

“ Six  physicians  ! impossible  ! And  the  composition  h ” 
cried  Pittrino. 

“ That  is  your  business  — but  so  it  shall  be  — I insist 
upon  it  — it  must  be  so  — my  macaroni  is  burning.” 

This  reasoning  was  peremptory.  Pittrino  obeyed. 
He  composed  the  sign  of  six  physicians,  with  the  legend ; 
the  magistrate  applauded  and  authorized  it. 


46  THE  VICOMTE  HE  BRAGKLONNE. 

The  sign  produced  an  extravagant  success  in  the  city, 
which  proves  that  poetry  has  always  suffered  injustice 
from  the  people,  as  Pittrino  said. 

Cropole,  to  make  amends  to  his  painter-in -ordinary, 
hung  up  the  nymphs  of  the  preceding  sign  in  his  bed- 
room, wrhich  made  Madame  Cropole  blush  every  time  she 
looked  at  it,  when  she  was  undressing  at  night. 

This  is  the  way  in  which  the  pointed-gable  house  got  a 
sign  ; and  this  is  how  the  hostelry  of  the  Medici,  making 
a fortune,  was  forced  to  be  enlarged  by  the  quadrilateral 
which  we  have  described  ; and  this  is  how  there  was  at 
Blois  a hostelry  of  that  name,  which  had  Master  Cropole 
for  proprietor,  and  for  painter-in-ordinary  Master  Pittrino. 


THE  UNKNOWN 


47 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  UNKNOWN. 

Thus  founded  and  recommended  by  its  sign,  the  hostelry 
of  Master  Cropole  held  its  way  steadily  on  towards  a 
solid  prosperity. 

It  was  not  an  immense  fortune  that  Cropole  had  in 
view ; but  he  might  hope  to  double  the  thousand  louis 
d’or  left  by  his  father,  to  make  another  thousand  louis 
by  the  sale  of  his  house  and  stock,  and,  free  at  length,  to 
live  happily  like  a retired  citizen. 

Cropole  was  anxious  for  gain,  and  was  half  crazy  with 
joy  at  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  Louis  XIV. 

Himself,  his  wife,  Pittrino,  and  two  cooks  immediately 
laid  hands  upon  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  dove-cot,  the 
poultry-yard,  and  the  rabbit-hutches ; so  that  as  many 
lamentations  and  cries  resounded  in  the  yards  of  the 
hostelry  of  the  Medici  as  were  once  heard  in  Rama. 

Cropole  had,  at  the  time,  but  one  single  traveller  in  his 
house. 

This  was  a man  of  scarcely  thirty  years  of  age,  hand- 
some, tall,  austere,  or  rather  melancholy,  in  all  his  ges- 
tures and  looks. 

He  was  dressed  in  black  velvet  with  jet  trimmings ; a 
white  collar,  as  plain  as  that  of  the  severest  Puritan,  set 
off  the  whiteness  of  his  youthful  neck ; a small,  dark- 
colored  mustache  scarcely  covered  his  curled,  disdainful 
lip. 


48 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


He  spoke  to  people  looking  them  full  in  the  face,  with- 
out affectation,  it  is  true,  but  without  scruple ; so  that 
the  brilliancy  of  his  black  eyes  became  so  insupportable 
that  more  than  one  look  had  sunk  beneath  his,  like  the 
weaker  sword  in  a single  combat. 

At  this  time,  in  which  men,  all  created  equal  by  God, 
were  divided,  thanks  to  prejudices,  into  two  distinct 
castes,  the  gentleman  and  the  commoner,  as  they  are 
really  divided  into  two  races,  the  black  and  the  white,  — 
at  this  time,  we  say,  he  whose  portrait  we  have  just 
sketched  could  not  fail  of  being  taken  for  a gentleman, 
and  of  the  best  class.  To  ascertain  this,  there  was  no 
necessity  to  consult  anything  but  his  hands,  long,  slen- 
der, and  white,  of  which  every  muscle,  every  vein,  became 
apparent  through  the  skin  at  the  least  movement,  and 
the  phalanges  reddened  at  the  least  irritation. 

This  gentleman,  then,  had  arrived  alone  at  Cropole’s 
house.  He  had  taken,  without  hesitation,  without  reflec- 
tion even,  the  principal  appartement,  which  the  host  had 
pointed  out  to  him  with  a rapacious  aim,  very  reprehensi- 
ble some  will  say,  very  praiseworthy  will  say  others,  if 
they  admit  that  Cropole  was  a physiognomist,  and  judged 
people  at  first  sight. 

This  appartement  was  that  which  composed  the  whole 
front  of  the  ancient  triangular  house,  — a large  salon, 
lighted  by  two  windows  on  the  first  stage,  a small  cham- 
ber by  the  side  of  it,  and  another  above  it. 

ISTow,  from  the  time  he  had  arrived  this  gentleman  had 
scarcely  touched  any  repast  that  had  been  served  up  to 
him  in  his  chamber.  He  had  spoken  but  two  words  to 
the  host,  to  warn  him  that  a traveller  of  the  name  of 
Parry  would  arrive,  and  to  desire  that,  when  he  did,  he 
should  be  shown  up  to  him  immediately. 

He  afterwards  preserved  so  profound  a silence,  that 


THE  UNKNOWN. 


49 


Cropole  was  almost  offended,  so  much  did  he  prefer 
people  who  were  good  company. 

This  gentleman  had  risen  early  the  morning  of  the  day 
on  which  this  history  begins,  and  had  placed  himself  at 
the  window  of  his  salon,  seated  upon  the  ledge,  and  lean- 
ing upon  the  rail  of  the  balcony,  gazing  sadly  but  per- 
sistently on  both  sides  of  the  street,  watching,  no  doubt, 
for  the  arrival  of  the  traveller  he  had  mentioned  to  the 
host. 

In  this  way  he  had  seen  the  little  cortege  of  Monsieur 
return  from  hunting,  then  had  again  partaken  of  the 
profound  tranquillity  of  the  street,  absorbed  in  his  own 
expectation. 

All  at  once  the  movement  of  the  poor  going  to  the 
meadows,  couriers  setting  out,  washers  of  pavement,  pur- 
veyors of  the  royal  household,  gabbling,  scampering  shop- 
boys,  chariots  in  motion,  hairdressers  on  the  run,  and 
pages  toiling  along,  — this  tumult  and  bustle  had  sur- 
prised him,  but  without  his  losing  any  of  that  impassible 
and  supreme  majesty  which  gives  to  the  eagle  and  the  lion 
that  serene  and  contemptuous  glance  amidst  the  hurrahs 
and  shouts  of  hunters  or  the  curious. 

Soon  the  cries  of  the  victims  slaughtered  in  the  poultry- 
yard  ; the  hasty  steps  of  Madame  Cropole  up  that  little 
wooden  staircase,  so  narrow  and  so  sonorous ; the  bound- 
ing pace  of  Pittrino,  who  only  that  morning  was  smoking 
at  the  door  with  all  the  phlegm  of  a Dutchman,  — all  this 
communicated  something  like  agitation  and  surprise  to 
the  traveller. 

As  he  was  rising  to  make  inquiries,  the  door  of  his 
chamber  opened.  The  unknown  concluded  they  were 
about  to  introduce  the  impatiently  expected  traveller; 
with  some  precipitation,  therefore,  he  took  three  steps 
towards  the  opening  door. 

VOL.  i.  — 4 


50 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


But,  instead  of  the  person  he  expected,  it  was  Master 
Cropole  who  appeared,  and  behind  him,  in  the  half-dark 
staircase,  the  pleasant  face  of  Madame  Cropole,  rendered 
trivial  by  curiosity.  She  only  gave  one  furtive  glance  at 
the  handsome  gentleman,  and  disappeared. 

Cropole  advanced,  cap  in  hand,  rather  bent  than  bowing. 

A gesture  of  the  unknown  interrogated  him,  without  a 
word  being  pronounced. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Cropole,  “ I come  to  ask  how  — what 
ought  I to  say  : your  Lordship,  Monsieur  the  Count,  or 
Monsieur  the  Marquis  ? ” 

“Say  Monsieur,  and  speak  quickly,”  replied  the  un- 
known, with  that  haughty  accent  which  admits  of  neither 
discussion  nor  reply. 

“ I came,  then,  to  inquire  how  Monsieur  had  passed 
the  night,  and  if  Monsieur  intended  to  keep  this  ap- 
partement  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Monsieur,  something  has  happened  upon  which  we 
could  not  reckon.” 

“What?” 

“ His  Majesty  Louis  XI Y.  will  enter  our  city  to-day, 
and  will  remain  here  one  day,  perhaps  two.” 

Great  astonishment  was  pictured  on  the  countenance  of 
the  unknown. 

“ The  King  of  France  coming  to  Blois  ? ” 

“He  is  on  the  road,  Monsieur.” 

“ Then  there  is  the  stronger  reason  for  my  remaining,” 
said  the  unknown. 

“ Very  well ; but  will  Monsieur  keep  the  entire  apparte- 
ment  ? ” 

“ I do  not  understand  you.  Why  should  I require  less 
to-day  than  yesterday  ? ” 

“ Because,  Monsieur,  your  Lordship  will  permit  me  to 


THE  UNKNOWN. 


51 


say,  yesterday  I did  not  think  proper,  when  you  chose 
your  lodging,  to  fix  any  price  that  might  have  made  your 
Lordship  believe  that  I prejudged  your  resources,  while 
to-day  — ” 

The  unknown  colored ; the  idea  at  once  struck  him 
that  he  was  supposed  to  be  poor,  and  that  he  was 
insulted. 

“ While  to-day,”  replied  he,  coldly,  “ you  do  pre- 
judge 

“ Monsieur,  I am  a well-meaning  man,  thank  God ! 
and,  simple  hotel-keeper  as  I am,  there  is  in  me  the 
blood  of  a gentleman.  My  father  was  a servant  and 
officer  of  the  late  Marechal  d’Ancre.  God  rest  his 
soul ! ” 

“ I do  not  contest  that  point  with  you ; I only  wish  to 
know,  and  that  quickly,  to  what  your  questions  tend  1 ” 

“ You  are  too  reasonable,  Monsieur,  not  to  compre- 
hend that  our  city  is  small,  that  the  court  is  about  to 
invade  it,  that  the  houses  will  be  overflowing  with  in- 
habitants, and  that  lodgings  will  consequently  obtain 
considerable  prices.” 

Again  the  unknown  colored.  “ Name  your  terms,” 
said  he. 

“ I name  them  with  scruple,  Monsieur,  because  I seek 
an  honest  gain,  and  because  I wish  to  carry  on  my  busi- 
ness without  being  uncivil  or  extravagant  in  my  de- 
mands. Now,  the  appartement  you  occupy  is  considerable, 
and  you  are  alone.” 

“ That  is  my  business.” 

“ Oh,  certainly.  I do  not  mean  to  turn  Monsieur 
out.” 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  temples  of  the  unknown  ; he 
darted  at  poor  Cropole,  the  descendant  of  one  of  the 
officers  of  the  Marechal  d’Ancre,  a glance  that  would  have 


52 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


buried  him  beneath  that  famous  chimney-slab,  if  Cropole 
had  not  been  nailed  to  the  spot  by  the  question  of  his 
own  proper  interests. 

“ Do  you  desire  me  to  go  ? ” said  he.  “ Explain  your- 
self, — but  quickly.” 

“ Monsieur,  Monsieur,  you  do  not  understand  mec  It 
is  very  delicate,  I know,  — that  which  I am  doing.  I 
express  myself  badly,  or,  perhaps,  as  Monsieur  is  a for- 
eigner, which  I perceive  by  his  accent  — ” 

In  fact,  the  unknown  spoke  with  that  slight  difficulty 
with  the  letter  r,  which  is  the  principal  characteristic 
of  English  pronunciation,  even  among  men  of  that  na- 
tion who  speak  the  French  language  with  the  greatest 
purity. 

“As  Monsieur  is  a foreigner,  I say,  it  is  perhaps  he 
who  does  not  catch  my  exact  meaning.  I wish  for  Mon- 
sieur to  give  up  one  or  two  of  the  rooms  he  occupies, 
which  would  diminish  his  expenses  and  ease  my  con- 
science. Indeed,  it  is  hard  to  increase  unreasonably  the 
price  of  the  chambers,  when  one  has  had  the  honor  to 
let  them  at  a reasonable  price.” 

“ How  much  does  the  hire  amount  to  since  yesterday?” 
“ Monsieur,  to  one  louis,  with  refreshments  and  the 
charge  for  the  horse.” 

“ Very  well ; and  tha’t  of  to-day?” 

“ Ah  ! there  is  the  difficulty.  This  is  the  day  of  the 
king’s  arrival ; if  the  court  comes  to  sleep  here,  the 
charge  of  the  day  is  reckoned.  From  that  it  results  that 
three  chambers,  at  two  louis  each,  make  six  louis.  Two 
louis,  Monsieur,  are  not  much ; but  six  louis  make  a 
great  deal.” 

The  unknown,  from  red,  as  we  have  seen  him,  became 
very  pale. 

He  drew  from  his  pocket,  with  heroic  bravery,  a purse 


THE  UNKNOWN. 


53 


embroidered  with  a coat-of-arms,  which  he  carefully  con- 
cealed in  the  hollow  of  his  hand.  This  purse  was  of  a 
thinness,  a flabbiness,  a hollowness,  which  did  not  es- 
cape the  eye  of  Cropole. 

The  unknown  emptied  the  purse  into  his  hand.  It 
contained  three  double  louis,  which  amounted  to  the  six 
louis  demanded  by  the  host. 

But  it  was  seven  that  Cropole  had  required. 

He  looked,  therefore,  at  the  unknown,  as  much  as  to 
say,  “ And  then1?  ” 

“ There  remains  one  louis,  does  there  not,  master  host  ? ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,  but  — ” 

The  unknown  plunged  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  his 
haut-de-chausses  and  emptied  it.  It  contained  a small 
pocket-book,  a gold  key,  and  some  silver.  With  this 
change  he  made  up  a louis. 

“ Thank  you,  Monsieur,”  said  Cropole.  “ It  now  only 
remains  for  me  to  ask  whether  Monsieur  intends  to  oc- 
cupy his  appartement  to-morrow,  in  which  case  I will 
reserve  it  for  him ; whereas,  if  Monsieur  does  not  mean 
to  do  so,  I will  promise  it  to  some  of  the  king’s  people 
who  are  coming.” 

“ That  is  but  right,”  said  the  unknown,  after  a long 
silence ; “ but  as  I have  no  more  money,  as  you  have 
seen,  and  as  I yet  must  retain  the  appartement,  you 
must  either  sell  this  diamond  in  the  city,  or  hold  it  in 
pledge.” 

Cropole  looked  at  the  diamond  so  long  that  the  un- 
known said  hastily  : “ I prefer  your  selling  it,  Monsieur, 
for  it  is  worth  three  hundred  pistoles.  A Jew  — are 
there  any  Jews  in  Blois  ? — would  give  you  two  hundred 
or  a hundred  and  fifty  for  it.  Take  whatever  may  be 
offered  for  it,  if  it  be  no  more  than  the  price  of  your 
lodging.  Begone ! ” 


54 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Oh,  Monsieur,”  replied  Cropole,  ashamed  of  the  sud- 
den inferiority  which  the  unknown  retorted  upon  him  by 
this  noble  and  disinterested  confidence,  as  well  as  by  the 
unalterable  patience  opposed  to  so  many  suspicions  and 
evasions,  — “ Oh,  Monsieur,  I hope  people  are  not  so  dis- 
honest at  Blois  as  you  seem  to  think ; and  that  the 
diamond,  being  worth  what  you  say  — ” 

The  unknown  here  again  darted  at  Cropole  one  of  his 
eloquent  glances. 

“ I really  do  not  understand  diamonds,  Monsieur,  I 
assure  you,”  cried  he. 

“ But  the  jewellers  do ; ask  them,”  said  the  unknown. 
“ Now  I believe  our  accounts  are  settled,  are  they  not, 
Monsieur  host  V9 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  and  to  my  profound  regret,  for  I 
fear  I have  offended  Monsieur.” 

“ Not  at  all,”  replied  the  unknown,  with  ineffable 
majesty. 

“ Or  have  appeared  to  be  extortionate  with  a noble 
traveller.  Consider,  Monsieur,  the  peculiarity  of  the 
case.” 

“ Say  no  more  about  it,  I desire ; and  leave  me  to 
myself.” 

Cropole  bowed  profoundly,  and  left  the  room  with  a 
stupefied  air,  which  proved  that  he  had  a good  heart  and 
felt  genuine  remorse. 

The  unknown  himself  shut  the  door  after  him,  and, 
when  left  alone,  looked  mournfully  at  the  bottom  of  the 
purse,  from  which  he  had  taken  a small  silken  bag  con- 
taining the  diamond,  his  last  resource. 

He  dwelt  likewise  upon  the  emptiness  of  his  pockets, 
turned  over  the  papers  in  his  pocket-book,  and  convinced 
himself  of  the  state  of  absolute  destitution  in  which  he 
was  about  to  be  plunged. 


THE  UNKNOWN. 


55 


He  raised  his  eyes  towards  heaven,  with  a sublime 
emotion  of  despairing  calmness,  brushed  off  with  his 
trembling  hand  some  drops  of  sweat  which  trickled  over 
his  noble  brow,  and  then  cast  down  upon  the  earth  a 
look  which  just  before  had  been  impressed  wflth  almost 
divine  majesty. 

The  storm  had  passed  far  from  him ; perhaps  he  had 
prayed  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul. 

He  drew  near  to  the  wundow,  resumed  his  place  in  the 
balcony,  and  remained  there,  motionless,  annihilated, 
dead,  till  the  moment  when,  the  heavens  beginning  to 
darken,  the  first  flambeaux  traversed  the  perfumed 
street,  and  gave  the  signal  for  illumination  to  all  the 
windows  of  the  city. 


56 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  YII. 

PARRY. 

While  the  unknown  was  viewing  these  lights  with  in- 
terest, and  lending  an  ear  to  the  various  noises,  Master 
Cropole  entered  the  appartement,  followed  by  two  attend- 
ants, who  laid  the  cloth  for  his  meal. 

The  stranger  did  not  pay  them  the  least  attention  • 
but  Cropole,  approaching  him  respectfully,  whispered, 
“ Monsieur,  the  diamond  has  been  valued.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  traveller.  “ Well  ? ” 

“Well,  Monsieur,  the  jeweller  of  his  royal  Highness 
gives  two  hundred  and  eighty  pistoles  for  it.” 

“ Have  you  them  ? ” 

“ I thought  it  best  to  take  them,  Monsieur ; never- 
theless, I made  it  a condition  of  the  bargain,  that  if 
Monsieur  wished  to  keep  his  diamond  it  should  be  held 
till  Monsieur  was  again  in  funds.” 

“ Oh,  no,  not  at  all ! I told  you  to  sell  it.” 

“ Then  I have  obeyed,  or  nearly  so,  since,  without 
having  definitely  sold  it,  I have  touched  the  money.” 
“Pay  yourself,”  added  the  unknown. 

“I  will  do  so,  Monsieur,  since  you  so  positively  re- 
quire it.” 

A sad  smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  the  gentleman. 

“ Place  the  money  on  that  trunk,”  said  he,  turning 
round  and  pointing  to  the  piece  of  furniture. 

Cropole  deposited  a tolerably  large  bag  as  directed, 
after  having  taken  from  it  the  amount  of  his  reckoning. 


PARRY. 


57 


“Now,”  said  he,  “I  hope  Monsieur  will  not  give  me 
the  pain  of  not  taking  any  supper.  Dinner  has  already 
been  refused ; this  is  affronting  to  the  house  of  the 
Medici.  Look,  Monsieur,  the  supper  is  on  the  table, 
and  I venture  to  say  that  it  looks  attractive.” 

The  unknown  asked  for  a glass  of  wine,  broke  off  a 
morsel  of  bread,  and  did  not  stir  from  the  window  while 
he  ate  and  drank. 

Shortly  after  was  heard  a loud  flourish  of  trumpets ; 
cries  arose  in  the  distance,  a confused  buzzing  filled  the 
lower  part  of  the  city,  and  the  first  distinct  sound  that 
struck  the  ears  of  the  stranger  was  the  tramp  of  advan- 
cing horses. 

“ The  king ! the  king ! ” repeated  a noisy  and  eager  crowd. 

“ The  king  ! ” cried  Cropole,  abandoning  his  guest  and 
his  ideas  of  delicacy  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 

With  Cropole  were  mingled  and  jostled,  on  the  stair 
case,  Madame  Cropole,  Pittrino,  and  the  waiters  and 
scullions. 

The  cortege  advanced  slowly,  lighted  by  a thousand 
flambeaux  in  the  street  and  at  the  windows. 

After  a company  of  musketeers,  and  a closely  ranked 
troop  of  gentlemen,  came  the  litter  of  M.  le  Cardinal 
Mazarin,  drawn  like  a carriage  by  four  black  horses.  The 
pages  and  people  of  the  cardinal  marched  behind. 

Next  came  the  carriage  of  the  queen-mother,  with  her 
maids  of  honor  at  the  doors,  her  gentlemen  on  horseback 
at  both  sides. 

The  king  then  appeared,  mounted  upon  a splendid 
horse  of  Saxon  race,  with  a flowing  mane.  The  young 
prince  exhibited,  when  bowing  toward  some  windows  from 
which  issued  the  most  animated  acclamations,  a noble 
and  handsome  countenance  illumined  by  the  flambeaux 
of  his  pages. 


58 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


On  either  side  of  the  king,  though  a little  in  the  rear, 
the  Prince  de  Conde,  M.  Dangeau,  and  twenty  other 
courtiers,  followed  by  their  people  and  their  baggage, 
closed  this  veritably  triumphant  march.  The  pomp  was 
of  a military  character. 

Some  of  the  courtiers  — the  elder  ones,  for  instance  — 
wore  travelling  dresses  ; but  all  the  rest  were  clothed 
in  warlike  panoply.  Many  wore  the  gorget  and  buff  coat 
of  the  times  of  Henry  IV.  and  Louis  XIII. 

When  the  king  passed  before  him,  the  unknown,  who 
had  leaned  forward  over  the  balcony  to  obtain  a better 
view,  and  who  had  concealed  his  face  by  leaning  on  his 
arm,  felt  his  heart  swell  and  overflow  with  a bitter 
jealousy. 

The  noise  of  the  trumpets  excited  him,  the  popular 
acclamations  deafened  him ; for  a moment  he  allowed 
his  reason  to  be  absorbed  in  this  flood  of  lights,  tumult, 
and  brilliant  images. 

“He  is  a king ! ” murmured  he,  in  an  accent  of  despair. 

Then,  before  he  had  recovered  from  his  sombre  reverie, 
all  the  noise,  all  the  splendor,  had  passed  away.  At  the 
angle  of  the  street  there  remained  nothing  beneath  the 
stranger  but  a few  hoarse,  discordant  voices,  shouting 
at  intervals,  “ Vive  le  Roi ! ” 

There  remained  likewise  the  six  candles  held  by  the 
inhabitants  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Medici ; that  is  to 
say,  two  for  Cropole,  two  for  Pittrino,  and  one  for  each 
scullion.  Cropole  never  ceased  repeating,  “ How  good- 
looking  the  king  is ! How  strongly  he  resembles  his 
illustrious  father  ! ” 

“ A handsome  likeness  ! ” said  Pittrino. 

“And  what  a lofty  carriage  he  has ! ” added  Madame 
Cropole,  already  in  promiscuous  commentary  with  her 
neighbors  of  both  sexes. 


PARRY. 


59 


Cropole  was  feeding  their  gossip  with  his  own  personal 
remarks,  without  observing  that  an  old  man  on  foot,  but 
leading  a small  Irish  horse  by  the  bridle,  was  endeavor- 
ing to  penetrate  the  crowd  of  men  and  women  which 
blocked  up  the  entrance  to  the  Medici.  But  at  that 
moment  the  voice  of  the  stranger  was  heard  from  the 
window. 

“Make  way,  Monsieur  host,  to  the  entrance  of  your 
house ! ” 

Cropole  turned  round,  and  on  seeing  the  old  man, 
cleared  a passage  for  him. 

The  window  was  instantly  closed. 

Pittrino  pointed  out  the  way  to  the  newly  arrived 
guest,  who  entered  without  uttering  a word. 

The  stranger  waited  for  him  on  the  landing.  He  opened 
his  arms  to  the  old  man,  and  would  have  led  him  to  a 
seat ; but  he  resisted. 

“ Oh,  no,  no,  my  Lord  ! ” said  he.  “ Sit  down  in  your 
presence  ? — never  ! ” 

“ Parry,”  cried  the  gentleman,  “ I beg  you  will ; you 
come  from  England,  — you  come  so  far.  Ah  ! it  is  not 
for  your  age  to  undergo  the  fatigues  my  service  requires. 
Rest  yourself.’ 7 

“ I have  my  reply  to  give  your  Lordship,  in  the  first 
place.” 

“Parry,  I conjure  you  tell  me  nothing;  for  if  your 
news  had  been  good,  you  would  not  have  begun  in  such 
a manner.  You  hesitate,  which  proves  that  the  news 
is  bad.” 

“My  Lord,”  said  the  old  man,  “do  not  hasten  to 
alarm  yourself ; all  is  not  lost,  I hope.  There  is  need 
of  energy,  of  perseverance,  but  more  particularly  of 
resignation.” 

“ Parry,”  said  the  young  man,  “ I have  reached  this 


60 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


place  through  a thousand  snares  and  after  a thousand 
difficulties  : can  you  doubt  my  energy  % I have  medi- 
tated this  journey  ten  years,  in  spite  of  all  counsels  and 
all  obstacles  : have  you  faith  in  my  perseverance  1 I 
have  this  evening  sold  the  last  of  my  father’s  diamonds; 
for  I had  nothing  wherewith  to  pay  for  my  lodgings,  and 
my  host  was  about  to  turn  me  out.” 

Parry  made  a gesture  of  indignation,  to  which  the 
young  man  replied  by  a pressure  of  the  hand  and  a 
smile. 

“ I have  still  two  hundred  and  seventy-four  pistoles  left, 
and  I feel  myself  rich.  I do  not  despair,  Parry  : have 
you  faith  in  my  resignation  ? ” 

The  old  man  raised  his  trembling  hands  towards  heaven. 
“ Let  me  know,”  said  the  stranger,  — “ disguise  nothing 
from  me  — what  has  happened.” 

“ My  recital  will  be  short,  my  Lord ; but,  in  the  name 
of  Heaven,  do  not  tremble  so.” 

“ It  is  impatience,  Parry.  Come,  what  did  the  general 
say  to  you  ? ” 

“At  first  the  general  would  not  receive  me.” 

“ He  took  you  for  a spy  ? ” 

“Yes,  my  Lord ; but  I wrote  him  a letter.” 

“Weill” 

“ He  received  it,  and  read  it,  my  Lord.” 

“ Did  that  letter  thoroughly  explain  my  position  and 
my  views  "l ” 

“ Oh  yes  ! ” said  Parry,  with  a sad  smile ; “ it  faithfully 
pictured  your  very  thoughts.” 

“ Well  — then,  Parry  h 99 

“ Then  the  general  sent  me  back  the  letter  by  an  aide, 
de-camp,  informing  me  that  if  I were  found  the  next  day 
within  the  circumscription  of  his  command,  he  would 
have  me  arrested.” 


PARRY. 


61 


“ Arrested  ! ” murmured  the  young  man.  “ What ! 
arrest  you,  my  most  faithful  servant  h ” 

“Yes,  my  Lord.” 

“ And  notwithstanding  you  had  signed  the  name 
Parry  % ” 

“ Plainly,  my  Lord ; and  the  aide-de-camp  had  known 
me  at  St.  James’s,  and  at  Whitehall  too,”  added  the  old 
man,  with  a sigh. 

The  young  man  leaned  forward,  thoughtful  and  sad. 

“Ay,  that’s  what  he  did  before  his  people,”  said  he, 
endeavoring  to  cheat  himself  with  hopes.  “ But  privately 
— between  you  and  him  — what  did  he  do  1 Answer  ! ” 

“ Alas  ! my  Lord,  he  sent  to  me  four  cavaliers,  who  gave 
me  the  horse  with  which  you  just  now  saw  me  come  back. 
These  cavaliers  conducted  me,  in  great  haste,  to  the  little 
port  of  Tenby,  threw  me  rather  than  embarked  me  into  a 
fishing-boat  about  to  sail  for  Brittany,  and  here  I am.” 

“ Oh ! ” sighed  the  young  man,  clasping  his  neck  con- 
vulsively with  his  hand,  and  with  a sob.  “Parry,  is  that 
all  1 — is  that  all  1 ” 

“ Yes,  my  Lord  ; that  is  all.” 

After  this  brief  reply  ensued  a long  interval  of  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  convulsive  beating  of  the  heel  of  the 
young  man  on  the  floor. 

The  old  man  endeavored  to  change  the  conversation  ; 
it  was  leading  to  thoughts  much  too  sinister. 

“My  Lord,”  said  he,  “what  is  the  meaning  of  all  the 
noise  which  preceded  me  1 What  are  these  people  crying 
‘ Vive  le  Roi ! ’ for  1 What  king  do  they  mean,  and  what 
are  all  these  lights  for  1 ” 

“ Ah,  Parry,”  replied  the  young  man,  ironically,  “ don’t 
you  know  that  this  is  the  King  of  France  visiting  his  good 
city  of  Blois  1 All  those  trumpets  are  his  ; all  those  gilded 
housings  are  his ; all  those  gentlemen  wear  swords  that  are 


62 


THE  yiCOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


his.  His  mother  precedes  him  in  a carriage  magnificently 
incrusted  with  silver  and  gold.  Happy  mother  ! His  min- 
ister heaps  np  millions,  and  conducts  him  to  a rich  bride. 
Then  all  these  people  rejoice ; they  love  their  king,  they 
hail  him  with  their  acclamations,  and  they  cry,  ‘Vive  le 
Roi ! Vive  le  Roi ! ’ » 

“ Well,  well,  my  Lord,”  said  Parry,  more  uneasy  at  this 
turn  of  the  conversation  than  he  had  been  before. 

“You  know,”  resumed  the  unknown,  “ that  my  mother 
and  my  sister,  while  all  this  is  going  on  in  honor  of  the 
King  of  France,  have  neither  money  nor  beead  ; you  know 
that  I myself  shall  be  poor  and  degraded  within  a fort- 
night, when  all  Europe  will  become  acquainted  with  what 
you  have  told  me.  Parry,  are  there  not  examples  in 
which  a man  of  my  condition  should  himself — ” 

“ My  Lord,  in  the  name  of  Heaven  — ” 

“ You  are  right,  Parry.  I am  a coward ; and  if  I do 
nothing  for  myself,  what  will  God  do]  No,  no  ; I have 
two  arms,  Parry,  and  I have  a sword ; ” and  he  struck 
his  arm  violently  with  his  hand,  and  took  down  his  sword, 
which  hung  against  the  wall. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do,  my  Lord  ] r 1 
“ What  am  I going  to  do,  Parry  ] What  every  one  in 
my  family  does.  My  mother  lives  on  public  charity  ; my 
sister  begs  for  my  mother ; I have,  somewhere  or  other, 
brothers  who  equally  beg  for  themselves ; and  I,  the 
eldest,  will  go  and  do  as  all  the  rest  do,  — I will  go  and 
ask  charity ! ” 

And  at  these  words,  which  he  finished  sharply  with  a 
nervous  and  terrible  laugh,  the  young  man  girded  on 
his  sword,  took  his  hat  from  the  trunk,  fastened  to  his 
shoulder  a black  cloak,  which  he  had  worn  during  all  his 
journej7,  and  pressing  the  hands  of  the  old  man,  who 
watched  his  proceedings  with  a look  of  anxiety,  — 


PARRY. 


63 


“ My  good  Parry/’  said  he,  u order  a fire.  Drink,  eat, 
sleep,  and  be  happy ; let  us  both  be  happy,  my  faithful 
friend,  my  only  friend.  We  are  rich,  as  rich  as  kings  ! ” 
He  struck  the  bag  of  pistoles  with  his  clenched  hands 
as  he  spoke,  and  it  fell  heavily  to  the  ground.  He  re- 
sumed that  dismal  laugh  which  had  so  alarmed  Parry  ; and 
while  the  whole  household  was  screaming,  singing,  and 
preparing  to  install  the  travellers  who  had  been  preceded 
by  their  lackeys,  he  glided  out  by  the  principal  entrance 
into  the  street,  where  the  old  man,  who  had  gone  to  the 
window,  lost  sight  of  him  in  a moment. 


64 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHAT  HIS  MAJESTY  KING  LOUIS  XIV.  WAS  AT  THE  AGE  OF 
TWENTY-TWO. 

It  has  been  seen,  by  the  account  we  have  endeavored  to 
give  of  it,  that  the  entree  of  King  Louis  XIY.  into  the 
city  of  Blois  had  been  noisy  and  brilliant ; his  young  Ma- 
jesty had  therefore  appeared  perfectly  satisfied  with  it. 

On  arriving  beneath  the  porch  of  the  Castle  of  the 
States,  the  king  met,  surrounded  by  his  guards  and  gen- 
tlemen, with  his  royal  Highness  the  Duke,  Gaston  of  Or- 
leans, whose  physiognomy,  naturally  rather  majestic,  had 
borrowed  on  this  solemn  occasion  a fresh  lustre  and  a 
fresh  dignity.  On  her  part,  Madame,  dressed  in  her 
robes  of  ceremony,  awaited,  in  the  interior  balcony,  the 
entrance  of  her  nephew.  All  the  windows  of  the  old 
castle,  so  deserted  and  dismal  on  ordinary  days,  were 
resplendent  with  ladies  and  lights. 

It  was,  then,  to  the  sound  of  drums,  trumpets,  and  ri- 
vals, that  the  young  king  crossed  the  threshold  of  that 
castle  in  which,  seventy-two  years  before,  Henry  III.  had 
called  in  the  aid  of  assassination  and  treachery  to  keep 
upon  his  head  and  in  his  house  a crown  which  was  already 
slipping  from  his  brow  to  fall  into  another  family. 

All  eyes,  after  having  admired  the  young  king,  so 
handsome  and  so  agreeable,  sought  for  that  other  king 
of  France,  — a king  very  unlike  the  former,  and  so 
old,  so  pale,  so  bent,  that  people  called  him  the  Cardinal 
Mazarin. 


LOUIS  XIV. 


65 


Louis  was  at  this  time  endowed  with  all  the  natural 
gifts  which  make  the  perfect  gentleman.  His  eye  was 
brilliant,  mild,  and  of  a clear  azure  blue ; but  the  most 
skilful  physiognomists,  those  divers  into  the  soul,  on  fix- 
ing their  looks  upon  it,  — if  it  had  been  possible  for  a sub- 
ject to  sustain  the  glance  of  the  king,  — the  most  skilful 
physiognomists,  we  say,  would  never  have  been  able  to 
fathom  the  depths  of  that  abyss  of  mildness.  It  was 
with  the  eyes  of  the  king  as  with  the  immense  depth  of 
the  azure  heavens,  or  with  those  depths,  more  terrific  and 
almost  as  sublime,  which  the  Mediterranean  reveals  under 
the  keels  of  its  ships  in  a clear  summer  day,  — a gigantic 
mirror  in  which  heaven  delights  to  reflect  sometimes  its 
stars,  sometimes  its  storms. 

The  king  was  short  of  stature,  — he  was  scarcely  five 
feet  two  inches ; but  his  youth  extenuated  this  defect,  set 
off  likewise  by  great  nobleness  in  all  his  movements  and 
by  considerable  address  in  all  bodily  exercises. 

Certainly  he  was  already  quite  a king,  and  it  was  a 
great  thing  to  be  a king  in  that  period  of  traditional 
devotedness  and  respect ; but  as  up  to  that  time  he  had 
been  but  seldom  and  always  but  poorly  shown  to  the 
people,  since  they  to  whom  he  wTas  shown  saw  him  by  the 
side  of  his  mother,  a tall  woman,  and  Monsieur  the  Car- 
dinal, a man  of  fine  presence,  many  found  him  so  little 
of  a king  as  to  say,  “ Why,  the  king  is  not  so  much  of 
a man  as  Monsieur  the  Cardinal ! ” 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  these  physical  observa- 
tions, which  were  principally  made  in  the  capital,  the 
young  king  was  welcomed  as  a god  by  the  inhabitants  of 
Blois,  and  almost  like  a king  by  his  uncle  and  aunt, 
Monsieur  and  Madame,  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle. 

It  must,  however,  be  allowed  that  when  he  saw  in  the 
hall  of  reception  chairs  of  equal  height  placed  for  him- 
VOL.  i.  — 5 


66 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


self,  his  mother,  the  cardinal,  and  his  uncle  and  aunt,  — 
an  arrangement  artfully  concealed  by  the  semicircular 
form  of  the  assembly,  — Louis  XI Y.  became  red  with 
anger,  and  looked  around  him  to  ascertain,  by  the  coun- 
tenances of  those  that  were  present,  if  this  humiliation 
had  been  intentionally  devised.  But  as  he  saw  nothing 
upon  the  impassive  visage  of  the  cardinal,  nothing  on 
that  of  his  mother,  nothing  on  those  of  the  assembly,  he 
resigned  himself  and  sat  down,  taking  care  to  be  seated 
before  anybody  else. 

The  gentlemen  and  ladies  were  presented  to  their 
Majesties  and  Monsieur  the  Cardinal. 

The  king  remarked  that  his  mother  and  he  scarcely 
knew  the  names  of  any  of  the  persons  who  were  presented 
to  them ; while  the  cardinal,  on  the  contrary,  never  failed, 
with  an  admirable  memory  and  presence  of  mind,  to  talk 
to  every  one  about  his  estates,  his  ancestors,  or  his  chil- 
dren, some  of  whom  he  named,  — which  enchanted  those 
worthy  country  gentlemen,  and  confirmed  them  in  the 
idea  that  he  alone  is  truly  king  who  knows  his  subjects, 
for  the  same  reason  that  the  sun  has  no  rival,  because 
the  sun  alone  warms  and  gives  light. 

The  study  of  the  young  king,  which  had  begun  a long 
time  before  without  anybody  suspecting  it,  was  con- 
tinued then ; and  he  looked  around  him  attentively,  to 
endeavor  to  make  out  something  in  the  physiognomies 
which  had  at  first  appeared  the  most  insignificant  and 
trivial. 

A collation  was  served.  The  king,  without  daring  to 
call  upon  the  hospitality  of  his  uncle,  had  waited  for  it 
impatiently.  This  time,  therefore,  he  had  all  the  honors 
due,  if  not  to  his  rank,  at  least  to  his  appetite. 

As  to  the  cardinal,  he  contented  himself  with  touching 
with  his  withered  lips  a bouillon , served  in  a gold  cup. 


LOUIS  XIV, 


67 


The  all-powerful  minister,  who  had  taken  her  regency 
from  the  queen  and  his  royalty  from  the  king,  had  not 
been  able  to  take  from  Nature  a good  stomach. 

Anne  of  Austria,  already  suffering  from  the  cancer 
which  six  or  eight  years  after  caused  her  death,  ate  very 
little  more  than  the  cardinal. 

As  to  Monsieur,  already  puffed  up  with  the  great  event 
which  had  taken  place  in  his  provincial  life,  he  ate  noth- 
ing whatever. 

Madame  alone,  like  a true  Lorrainer,  kept  pace  with 
his  Majesty ; so  that  Louis  XIV.,  who,  without  this 
partner,  might  have  eaten  nearly  alone,  was  at  first 
much  pleased  with  his  aunt,  and  afterwards  with  M.  de 
Saint-Remy,  her  maitre  d'hotel , who  had  really  distin- 
guished himself. 

The  collation  over,  at  a sign  of  approbation  from 
M.  de  Mazarin,  the  king  arose,  and,  at  the  invitation 
of  his  aunt,  walked  about  among  the  ranks  of  the 
assembly. 

The  ladies  then  observed  — there  are  certain  things 
for  which  women  are  as  good  observers  at  Blois  as  at 
Paris  — the  ladies  then  observed  that  Louis  XIV.  had 
a prompt  and  bold  look,  which  premised  a distinguished 
appreciator  of  beauty.  The  men,  on  their  part,  observed 
that  the  prince  was  proud  and  haughty,  — that  he  loved 
to  look  down  those  who  fixed  their  eyes  upon  him  too 
long  or  too  earnestly,  which  gave  presage  of  a master. 

Louis  XIV.  had  accomplished  about  a third  of  his 
review,  when  his  ears  were  struck  with  a word  which  his 
Eminence  pronounced  while  conversing  with  Monsieur. 

This  word  was  the  name  of  a woman. 

Scarcely  had  Louis  XIV.  heard  this  word  than  he 
heard,  or  rather  listened  to,  nothing  else ; and  neglecting 
the  arc  of  the  circle  which  awaited  his  visit,  his  object 


68 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


seemed  to  be  to  come  as  quickly  as  possible  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  curve. 

Monsieur,  like  a good  courtier,  was  inquiring  of  Mon- 
sieur the  Cardinal  after  the  health  of  his  nieces,  — for, 
five  or  six  years  before,  three  nieces  to  the  cardinal  had 
arrived  from  Italy ; they  were  Mesdemoiselles  Hortense, 
Olympe,  and  Marie  de  Mancini.  Monsieur,  then,  in- 
quired of  the  cardinal  concerning  the  health  of  his  nieces ; 
he  regretted,  he  said,  not  having  the  pleasure  of  receiving 
them  at  the  same  time  with  their  uncle ; they  must  cer- 
tainly have  grown  in  stature,  beauty,  and  grace,  as  they 
had  promised  to  do  the  last  time  Monsieur  had  seen 
them. 

What  had  first  struck  the  king  was  a certain  contrast 
in  the  voices  of  the  two  interlocutors.  The  voice  of  Mon- 
sieur was  calm  and  natural  while  he  spoke  thus,  while 
that  of  M.  de  Mazarin  in  reply  jumped  by  a note  and 
a half  above  his  ordinary  tone.  It  might  have  been  said 
that  he  wished  that  voice  to  strike,  at  the  end  of  the 
salon,  an  ear  that  was  receding  too  far. 

“ Monseigneur,”  replied  he,  “ Mesdemoiselles  de  Maza- 
rin have  still  to  finish  their  education ; they  have  duties 
to  fulfil,  and  a position  to  make.  An  abode  in  a young 
and  brilliant  court  tends  to  frivolity.” 

Louis,  at  this  last  sentence,  smiled  sadly.  The  court 
was  young,  it  was  true,  but  the  avarice  of  the  cardinal 
had  taken  good  care  that  it  should  not  be  brilliant. 

“ You  have,  nevertheless,  no  intention,”  replied  Mon- 
sieur, “ to  cloister  them  or  make  them  bourgeoises  ? ” 

“ Not  at  all,”  replied  the  cardinal,  forcing  his  Italian 
pronunciation  in  such  a manner  that,  from  being  soft  and 
velvety,  it  became  sharp  and  vibrating,  — “ not  at  all ; 
I have  a full  and  fixed  intention  to  marry  them,  and  that 
as  well  as  I shall  be  able.” 


LOUIS  XIV. 


09 

“ Parties  will  not  be  wanting,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,” 
replied  Monsieur,  with  a bonhommie  worthy  of  one  trades- 
man congratulating  another. 

“ I hope  not,  Monseigneur ; and  the  more  confidently 
since  God  has  been  pleased  to  give  them  grace,  intelli- 
gence, and  beauty.” 

During  this  conversation  Louis  XIV.,  conducted  by 
Madame,  accomplished,  as  we  have  described,  the  circle 
of  presentations. 

“ Mademoiselle  Arnoux,”  said  the  princess,  presenting 
to  his  Majesty  a fat,  fair  girl  of  two-and-twenty,  who  at  a 
village  fete  might  have  been  taken  for  a peasant  in  Sunday 
finery,  — “ the  daughter  of  my  music-mistress.” 

The  king  smiled.  Madame  had  never  been  able  to  ex- 
tract four  correct  notes  from  either  viol  or  harpsichord. 

“ Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais,”  continued  Madame  ; 
“ a young  lady  of  rank,  and  my  good  attendant.” 

This  time  it  was  not  the  king  that  smiled  ; it  was  the 
young  lady  presented,  because,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  she  heard  given  to  her  by  Madame,  who  generally 
showed  no  tendency  to  spoil  her,  such  an  honorable 
qualification. 

Our  old  acquaintance  Montalais,  therefore,  made  his 
Majesty  a profound  courtesy,  the  more  respectful  from 
the  necessity  she  was  under  of  concealing  certain  contrac- 
tions of  her  laughing  lips,  which  the  king  might  not  have 
attributed  to  their  real  cause. 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  the  king  caught  the 
word  which  startled  him. 

“ And  the  name  of  the  third  ] ” asked  Monsieur. 

“ Marie,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  cardinal. 

There  was  doubtless  some  magical  influence  in  that 
word ; for,  as  we  have  said,  the  king  started  at  hearing 
it,  and  drew  Madame  towards  the  middle  of  the  circle,  as 


70 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


if  he  wished  to  put  some  confidential  question  to  her, 
but,  in  reality,  for  the  sake  of  getting  nearer  to  the 
cardinal. 

“ Madame  my  aunt,”  said  he,  laughing,  and  in  a sup- 
pressed voice,  “ my  geography  master  did  not  teach  me 
that  Blois  was  at  such  an  immense  distance  from  Paris.” 

“ What  do  you  mean,  Nephew?”  asked  Madame. 

“ Why,  because  it  would  appear  that  it  requires  several 
years  for  fashions  to  travel  the  distance  ! — Look  at  those 
young  ladies  ! ” 

“Well;  I know  them  all.” 

“ Some  of  them  are  pretty.” 

“ Don’t  say  that  too  loud,  Monsieur  my  nephew ; you 
will  drive  them  wild.” 

“ Stop  a bit,  stop  a bit,  dear  aunt ! ” said  the  king,  smil- 
ing ; “ for  the  second  part  of  my  sentence  will  serve  as  a 
corrective  to  the  first.  Well,  my  dear  aunt,  some  of  them 
appear  old  and  others  ugly,  thanks  to  their  ten-year-old 
fashions.” 

“ But,  Sire,  Blois  is  only  five  days’  journey  from  Paris.” 
“Yes,  that  is  it,”  said  the  king;  “two  years  behind 
for  each  day.” 

“ Indeed ! do  you  really  think  so  ? Well,  that  is 
strange  ! It  never  struck  me.” 

“ Now,  look,  Aunt,”  said  Louis  XIV.,  drawing  still 
nearer  to  Mazarin,  under  the  pretext  of  gaining  a better 
point  of  view,  “ look  at  that  simple  white  dress  by  the 
side  of  those  antiquated  specimens  of  finery  and  those 
pretentious  coiffures.  She  is  probably  one  of  my  mother’s 
maids  of  honor,  though  I don’t  know  her.  See  what  an 
artless  figure,  what  gracious  manners  ! Well,  now,  that 
is  a woman ; all  the  rest  are  only  clothes.” 

“ Ah  ! ah  ! my  dear  nephew ! ” replied  Madame,  laugh- 
ing; “permit  me  to  tell  you  that  your  divinatory  science 


LOUIS  XIV. 


71 


is  at  fault  for  once.  The  young  lady  you  honor  with  your 
praise  is  not  a Parisian,  but  a Blaisoise.” 

tc  Oh,  Aunt  ! ” replied  the  king,  with  a look  of  doubt. 

“ Come  here,  Louise,”  said  Madame. 

And  the  fair  girl,  already  known  to  you  under  that 
name,  approached  them,  timid  and  blushing,  and  almost 
bent  beneath  the  royal  glance. 

“ Mademoiselle  Louise  Frangoise  de  laBeaume  Leblanc, 
daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  la  Valliere,”  said  Madame, 
ceremoniously. 

The  young  girl  bowed  with  so  much  grace,  mingled 
with  the  profound  timidity  inspired  by  the  presence  of 
the  king,  that  the  latter  lost,  while  looking  at  her,  a few 
words  of  the  conversation  of  Monsieur  and  the  cardinal. 

“ Daughter-in-law/’  continued  Madame,  “ of  M.  de 
Saint-Bemy,  my  maitre  d’hotel , who  presided  over  the  con- 
fection of  that  excellent  daube  truffee  which  your  Majesty 
seemed  so  much  to  appreciate.” 

No  grace,  no  youth,  no  beauty,  could  stand  out  against 
such  a presentation.  The  king  smiled.  Whether  the 
words  of  Madame  were  a pleasantry,  or  uttered  in  all  in- 
nocence, they  proved  the  pitiless  immolation  of  everything 
that  Louis  had  found  charming  or  poetic  in  the  young 
girl.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  for  Madame,  and  by 
rebound  for  the  king,  was,  for  a moment,  no  more  than 
the  daughter  of  a man  of  a superior  talent  over  dindes 
truffees. 

But  princes  are  thus  constituted.  The  gods,  too,  were 
just  like  this  in  Olympus.  Diana  and  Venus,  no  doubt, 
abused  the  beautiful  Alcmena  and  poor  Io,  when  they  de- 
scended, for  distraction’s  sake,  to  speak,  amid  nectar  and 
ambrosia,  of  mortal  beauties  at  the  table  of  Jupiter. 

Fortunately,  Louise  was  so  bent  in  her  reverential  sa- 
lute that  she  did  not  catch  either  Madame’s  words  or 


72 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  king’s  smile.  In  fact,  if  the  poor  child,  who  had  so 
much  good  taste  as  alone  to  have  chosen  to  dress  herself 
in  white  amidst  all  her  companions,  — if  that  dove’s  heart, 
so  easily  accessible  to  painful  emotions,  had  been  touched 
by  the  cruel  words  of  Madame  or  the  egotistical  cold 
smile  of  the  king,  it  would  have  annihilated  her. 

And  Montalais  herself,  the  girl  of  ingenious  ideas,  would 
not  have  attempted  to  recall  her  to  life ; for  ridicule  kills 
beauty  even. 

But  fortunately,  as  we  have  said,  Louise,  whose  ears 
were  buzzing,  and  whose  eyes  wrere  veiled  by  timidity,  — 
Louise  saw  nothing  and  heard  nothing  ; and  the  king,  who 
had  his  attention  still  directed  to  the  conversation  of  the 
cardinal  and  his  uncle,  hastened  to  return  to  them. 

He  came  up  just  at  the  moment  Mazarin  terminated  by 
saying  : “ Marie,  as  well  as  her  sisters,  has  just  set  off  for 
Brouage.  I make  them  follow  the  bank  of  the  Loire  op- 
posite to  that  along  which  we  have  travelled ; and  if  I 
calculate  their  progress  correctly,  according  to  the  orders 
I have  given,  they  will  to-morrow  be  opposite  Blois.” 

These  words  were  pronounced  with  that  tact  — that 
measure,  that  distinctness  of  tone,  of  intention  and  reach 
— which  made  Signor  Giulio  Mazarini  the  first  comedian 
in  the  world. 

It  resulted  that  they  went  straight  to  the  heart  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  that  the  cardinal,  on  turning  round  at 
the  simple  noise  of  the  approaching  footsteps  of  his 
Majesty,  saw  the  immediate  effect  of  them  upon  the 
countenance  of  his  pupil,  — an  effect  betrayed  to  the  keen 
eyes  of  his  Eminence  by  a slight  increase  of  color.  But 
what  was  the  ventilating  of  such  a secret  to  him  whose 
craft  had  for  twenty  years  deceived  all  the  diplomatists 
of  Europe  ? 

From  the  moment  the  young  king  heard  these  last 


LOUIS  XIV. 


73 


words,  he  appeared  as  if  he  had  received  a poisoned  arrow 
in  his  heart.  He  could  not  remain  quiet  in  one  place, 
but  cast  around  an  uncertain,  dead,  and  aimless  look  over 
the  assembly.  He  with  his  eyes  interrogated  his  mother 
more  than  twenty  times ; but  she,  given  up  to  the  pleas- 
ure of  conversing  with  her  sister-in-law,  and  likewise  con- 
strained by  the  glance  of  Mazarin,  did  not  appear  to 
comprehend  any  of  the  supplications  conveyed  by  the 
looks  of  her  son. 

From  this  moment,  music,  lights,  flowers,  beauties,  all 
became  odious  and  insipid  to  Louis  XIY.  After  he  had 
a hundred  times  bitten  his  lips,  stretched  his  legs  and  his 
arms  like  a well-bred  child  who,  without  daring  to  gape, 
exhausts  all  the  modes  of  evincing  his  weariness,  with- 
out having  uselessly  again  implored  his  mother  and  the 
minister,  he  turned  a despairing  look  towards  the  door,  — 
that  is  to  say,  towards  liberty. 

At  this  door,  leaning  against  the  embrasure,  he  saw, 
standing  out  strongly,  a figure  with  a brown  and  lofty 
countenance,  an  aquiline  nose,  a stern  but  brilliant  eye, 
gray  and  long  hair,  a black  mustache,  — the  true  type 
of  military  beauty,  — whose  gorget,  more  sparkling  than 
a mirror,  broke  all  the  reflected  lights  which  concentrated 
upon  it,  and  sent  them  back  in  flashes.  This  officer  wore 
his  gray  hat  with  its  long  red  plume  upon  his  head,  — a 
proof  that  he  was  called  there  by  duty,  and  not  by  pleasure. 
If  he  had  been  brought  thither  by  pleasure,  if  he  had  been 
a courtier  instead  of  a soldier,  — as  pleasure  must  always 
be  paid  fof  at  some  price,  — he  would  have  held  his  hat 
in  his  hand. 

What  proved  still  better  that  this  officer  was  upon 
duty,  and  was  accomplishing  a task  to  which  he  was 
accustomed,  was  that  he  watched,  with  folded  arms, 
remarkable  indifference,  and  supreme  apathy,  the  joys 


74 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  ennuis  of  this  fete.  Above  all,  he  appeared,  — like 
a philosopher,  and  all  old  soldiers  are  philosophers,  — 
he  appeared,  above  all,  to  comprehend  the  ennuis  in- 
finitely better  than  the  joys ; but  in  the  one  he  took 
his  part,  knowing  very  well  how  to  do  without  the 
other. 

Now,  he  was  leaning,  as  we  have  said,  against  the 
carved  door-frame  when  the  melancholy,  weary  eyes  of 
the  king  by  chance  met  his. 

It  was  not  the  first  time,  as  it  appeared,  that  the  eyes 
of  the  officer  had  met  those  eyes,  and  he  was  perfectly 
acquainted  with  the  expression  of  them ; for  as  soon  as 
he  had  cast  his  own  look  upon  the  countenance  of  Louis 
XIV.,  and  had  read  by  it  what  was  passing  in  his  heart, 
— that  is  to  say,  all  the  ennui  that  oppressed  him,  all 
the  timid  desire  to  go  out  which  agitated  him,  — he 
perceived  he  must  render  the  king  a service  without 
his  commanding  it,  almost  in  spite  of  himself.  Boldly, 
therefore,  as  if  he  had  given  the  word  of  command  to 
cavalry  in  battle,  “ On  the  king’s  service  ! ” cried  he,  in 
a clear,  sonorous  voice. 

At  these  words,  which  produced  the  effect  of  a peal  of 
thunder,  prevailing  over  the  orchestra,  the  singing,  and 
the  buzz  of  the  promenaders,  the  cardinal  and  the  queen- 
mother  looked  at  the  king  with  surprise. 

Louis  XIV.,  pale  but  resolved,  supported  as  he  was 
by  that  intuition  of  his  own  thought  which  he  had  found 
in  the  mind  of  the  officer  of  Musketeers,  and  which  he 
had  just  manifested  by  the  order  given,  arose  from  his 
chair,  and  took  a step  towards  the  door. 

“Are  you  going,  my  son?”  said  the  queen,  while 
Mazarin  satisfied  himself  with  interrogating  by  a look 
which  might  have  appeared  mild  if  it  had  not  been  so 
piercing. 


LOUIS  XIV. 


75 


“ Yes,  Madame,”  replied  the  king  ; “ I am  fatigued, 
and,  besides,  wish  to  write  this  evening.” 

A smile  stole  over  the  lips  of  the  minister,  who  ap- 
peared, by  a bend  of  the  head,  to  give  the  king 
permission. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  hastened  to  give  orders  to  the 
officers  who  presented  themselves. 

The  king  bowed,  crossed  the  hall,  and  gained  the  door, 
where  a hedge  of  twenty  musketeers  awaited  him.  At 
the  extremity  of  this  hedge  stood  the  officer,  impassible, 
with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  The  king  passed,  and 
all  the  crowd  stood  on  tip-toe  to  have  one  more  look  at 
him. 

Ten  musketeers,  opening  the  crowd  of  the  antecham- 
bers and  the  steps,  made  way  for  his  Majesty.  The  other 
ten  surrounded  the  king  and  Monsieur,  who  had  insisted 
upon  accompanying  his  Majesty.  The  domestics  walked 
behind.  This  little  cortege  escorted  the  king  to  the 
chamber  destined  for  him.  The  appartement  was  the 
jame  that  had  been  occupied  by  Henry  III.  during  his 
sojourn  in  the  States. 

Monsieur  had  given  his  orders.  The  musketeers,  led 
by  their  officer,  took  possession  of  the  little  passage  by 
which  one  wing  of  the  castle  communicates  with  the 
other.  The  beginning  of  this  passage  was  a small,  square 
antechamber,  dark  even  in  the  finest  days.  Monsieur 
stopped  Louis  XIY. 

“ You  are  passing  now,  Sire,”  said  he,  “ the  very  spot 
where  the  Due  de  Guise  received  the  first  stab  of  the 
poniard.” 

The  king  was  ignorant  of  all  historical  matters;  he 
had  heard  of  the  fact,  but  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
localities  or  the  details. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  he,  with  a shudder. 


76 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


And  he  stopped.  The  rest,  both  behind  him  and  be* 
fore  him,  stopped  likewise. 

“ The  duke,  Sire,”  continued  Gaston,  “ was  nearly  where 
I stand ; he  was  walking  in  the  same  direction  as  your 
Majesty;  M.  de  Lorgnes  was  exactly  where  your  lieu- 
tenant of  Musketeers  is;  M.  de  Saint-Maline  and  his 
Majesty’s  Ordinaries  were  behind  him  and  around  him. 
It  was  here  that  he  was  struck.” 

The  king  turned  towards  his  officer,  and  saw  something 
like  a cloud  pass  over  his  martial  and  daring  countenance. 

“ Yes,  from  behind ! ” murmured  the  lieutenant,  with 
a gesture  of  supreme  disdain  ; and  he  endeavored  to  re- 
sume the  march,  as  if  ill  at  ease  at  being  between  walls 
formerly  defiled  by  treachery. 

But  the  king,  who  appeared  to  wish  to  be  informed, 
was  disposed  to  give  another  look  at  this  dismal  spot. 

Gaston  perceived  his  nephew’s  desire. 

“ Look,  Sire  ! ’’said  he,  taking  a flambeau  from  the  hands 
of  M.  de  Saint-Kemy ; “ this  is  where  he  fell.  There  was 
a bed  there,  the  curtains  of  which  he  tore  with  catching 
at  them.” 

“ Why  does  the  floor  seem  hollowed  out  at  this  spot  'I  ” 
asked  Louis. 

“ Because  it  was  here  the  blood  flowed,”  replied  Gaston, 
“ The  blood  penetrated  deeply  into  the  oak,  and  it  was  only 
by  cutting  it  out  that  they  succeeded  in  making  it  dis- 
appear ; and  even  then,”  added  Gaston,  pointing  the  flam- 
beau to  the  spot,  — “ even  then  this  red  stain  resisted 
all  the  attempts  made  to  destroy  it.” 

Louis  XIV.  raised  his  head.  Perhaps  he  was  thinking 
of  that  bloody  trace  which  had  once  been  shown  him  at 
the  Louvre,  and  which,  as  a pendant  to  that  of  Blois,  had 
been  made  there  one  day  by  the  king  his  father  with  the 
blood  of  Concini. 


LOUIS  XIV. 


77 


“ Let  us  go  on,”  said  he. 

The  march  was  resumed  promptly ; for  emotion,  no 
doubt,  had  given  to  the  voice  of  the  young  prince  a tone 
of  command  which  was  not  customary  with  him.  When 
arrived  at  the  appartement  destined  for  the  king,  which 
communicated  not  only  with  the  little  passage  we  have 
passed  through,  but  further  with  the  great  staircase 
leading  to  the  court,  — 

“ Will  your  Majesty,”  said  Gaston,  “ condescend  to 
occupy  this  appartement,  all  unworthy  as  it  is  to  receive 
you]” 

Uncle,”  replied  the  young  king,  “ I render  you  my 
thanks  for  your  cordial  hospitality.” 

Gaston  bowed  to  his  nephew,  who  embraced  him,  and 
then  went  out. 

Of  the  twenty  musketeers  who  had  accompanied  the 
king,  ten  reconducted  Monsieur  to  the  reception-rooms, 
which  were  not  yet  empty,  notwithstanding  the  king  had 
retired. 

The  ten  others  were  posted  by  their  officer,  who  him- 
self explored,  in  five  minutes,  all  the  localities,  with  that 
cold  and  certain  glance  which  not  even  habit  gives  unless 
that  glance  belong  to  genius.  Then,  when  all  were  placed, 
he  chose  as  his  headquarters  the  antechamber,  in  which 
he  found  a large  fauteuil , a lamp,  some  wine,  some  water, 
and  some  dry  bread.  He  revived  the  light,  drank  half  a 
glass  of  wine,  curled  his  lip  with  a smile  full  of  expression, 
installed  himself  in  his  large  arm-chair,  and  made  prepa- 
rations for  sleeping. 


78 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

IN  WHICH  THE  UNKNOWN  OF  THE  HOSTELRY  OF  THE 
MEDICI  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 

This  officer,  who  was  sleeping,  or  preparing  to  sleep,  was, 
notwithstanding  his  careless  air,  charged  with  a serious 
responsibility. 

Lieutenant  of  the  king’s  Musketeers,  he  commanded 
all  the  company  which  came  from  Paris,  and  that  com- 
pany consisted  of  a hundred  and  twenty  men ; but,  with 
the  exception  of  the  twenty  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  the 
other  hundred  were  engaged  in  guarding  the  queen- 
mother,  and  more  particularly  the  cardinal. 

Monsignor  Giulio  Mazarini  economized  the  travelling 
expenses  of  his  guards ; he  consequently  used  the  king’s, 
and  that  largely,  since  he  took  fifty  of  them  for  himself,  — 
a peculiarity  which  would  not  have  failed  to  strike  any 
one  unacquainted  with  the  usages  of  that  court. 

What  would  to  a stranger  still  further  have  appeared, 
if  not  inconvenient,  at  least  extraordinary,  was  that  the 
side  of  the  castle  destined  for  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  was 
brilliant,  light,  and  cheerful.  The  musketeers  there 
mounted  guard  before  every  door,  and  allowed  no  one  to 
enter  except  the  couriers,  who,  even  while  he  was  travel- 
ling, followed  the  cardinal  for  the  carrying  on  of  his 
correspondence. 

Twenty  men  were  on  duty  with  the  queen-mother; 
thirty  rested,  in  order  to  relieve  their  companions  the 
next  day. 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


79 


On  the  king’s  side,  on  the  contrary,  were  darkness, 
silence,  and  solitude.  When  once  the  doors  were  closed, 
there  was  no  longer  an  appearance  of  royalty.  All  the 
servitors  had  by  degrees  retired.  Monsieur  the  Prince 
had  sent  to  know  if  his  Majesty  required  his  attendance ; 
and  on  the  customary  “ No  ” of  the  lieutenant  of  Muske- 
teers, who  was  habituated  to  the  question  and  the  reply, 
all  prepared  to  sink  into  the  arms  of  sleep,  as  if  in  the 
dwelling  of  a good  citizen. 

And  yet  it  was  possible  to  hear  from  the  side  of  tho 
house  occupied  by  the  young  king  the  music  of  the  ban- 
quet, and  to  see  the  windows  of  the  great  hall  richly 
illuminated. 

Ten  minutes  after  his  installation  in  his  appartement, 
Louis  XIV.  had  been  able  to  learn,  by  a movement  much 
more  distinguished  than  that  which  marked  his  own  de- 
parture, the  departure  of  the  cardinal,  who,  in  his  turn, 
sought  his  bedroom,  accompanied  by  a large  escort  of 
ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Besides/to  perceive  this  movement,  he  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  look  out  at  his  window,  the  shutters  of  which 
had  not  been  closed. 

His  Eminence  crossed  the  court,  conducted  by  Mon- 
sieur, who  himself  held  a flambeau ; then  followed  the 
queen-mother,  to  whom  Madame  familiarly  gave  her  arm ; 
and  both  walked  chatting  away  like  two  old  friends. 

Behind  these  two  couples  filed  nobles,  ladies,  pages,  and 
officers ; flambeaux  gleamed  over  the  whole  court,  like  the 
moving  reflections  of  a conflagration.  Then  the  noise  of 
steps  and  voices  became  lost  in  the  upper  floors  of  the 
castle. 

No  one  was  then  thinking  of  the  king,  who,  leaning  on 
his  elbow  at  the  window,  had  sadly  seen  all  that  light 
pass  away,  and  heard  that  noise  die  off,  — no,  not  one,  if 


80 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


it  was  not  that  unknown  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Medici, 
whom  we  have  seen  go  out  enveloped  in  his  cloak. 

He  had  come  straight  up  to  the  castle,  and  had,  with 
his  melancholy  countenance,  wandered  round  and  round 
the  palace,  from  which  the  people  had  not  yet  departed  ; 
and  finding  that  no  one  guarded  the  great  entrance,  or  the 
porch,  seeing  that  the  soldiers  of  Monsieur  were  frater- 
nizing with  the  royal  soldiers,  — that  is  to  say,  swallowing 
Beaugency  at  discretion,  or  rather  indiscretion  — the  un- 
known penetrated  through  the  crowd,  then  ascended  to 
the  court,  and  came  to  the  landing  of  the  staircase  lead- 
ing to  the  cardinal’s  apartment. 

What,  according  to  all  probability,  induced  him  to  di- 
rect his  steps  that  wTay,  was  the  splendor  of  the  flambeaux, 
and  the  busy  air  of  the  pages  and  domestics.  But  he  was 
stopped  short  by  a presented  musket  and  the  cry  of  the 
sentinel. 

“ Where  are  you  going,  my  friend  h ” asked  the  soldier. 

“ T am  going  to  the  king’s  appartement,”  replied  the 
unknown,  haughtily  but  tranquilly. 

The  soldier  called  one  of  his  Eminence’s  officers,  who,  in 
the  tone  in  which  a youth  in  office  directs  a solicitor  to  a 
minister,  let  fall  these  words : “ The  other  staircase,  in 
front.”  And  the  officer  without  further  notice  of  the 
unknown,  resumed  his  interrupted  conversation. 

The  stranger,  without  reply,  directed  his  steps  towards 
the  staircase  pointed  out  to  him.  On  this  side  no  more 
noise,  no  more  flambeaux  : obscurity,  through  which  a 
sentinel  glided  like  a shadow  ; silence,  which  permitted 
him  to  hear  the  sound  of  his  own  footsteps,  accompanied 
with  the  jingling  of  his  spurs  upon  the  stone  slabs. 

This  guard  was  one  of  the  twenty  musketeers  appointed 
for  attendance  upon  the  king,  and  he  mounted  guard  with 
the  stiffness  and  consciousness  of  a statue. 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO.  81 

“ Who  goes  there  ] 55  said  the  guard. 

“ A friend/5  replied  the  unknown. 

“ What  do  you  want  ? ” 

“ To  speak  to  the  king.’5 

“ Do  you,  my  dear  Monsieur]  That  can  hardly  be/5 
“ Why  not  ] 55 

“ Because  the  king  has  gone  to  bed/5 

“ Gone  to  bed  already  ] ,5 

“Yes.” 

“No  matter;  I must  speak  to  him/5 
“And  I tell  you  that  is  impossible/5 
“And  yet  — 55 
“ Go  back  ! 55 

“ Do  you  require  the  word  ? 55 

“ I have  no  account  to  render  to  you.  Stand 
back ! 55 

And  this  time  the  soldier  accompanied  his  word  with  a 
threatening  gesture ; but  the  unknown  stirred  no  more 
than  if  his  feet  had  taken  root. 

“ Monsieur  the  musketeer/’  said  he,  “ are  you  a gentle- 
man ] 55 

“ I have  that  honor.55 

“Very  well ! I also  am  one  ; and  between  gentlemen 
some  consideration  ought  to  be  observed/5 

The  soldier  lowered  his  arms,  overcome  by  the  dignity 
with  which  these  words  were  pronounced. 

“ Speak,  Monsieur/5  said  he ; “ and  if  you  ask  me  any- 
thing in  my  power  — 55 

“ Thank  you.  You  have  an  officer,  have  you  not?55 
“ Our  lieutenant  ] Yes,  Monsieur.’5 
“Well,  I wish  to  speak  to  him.’5 
“Oh,  that’s  a different  thing.  Come  up,  Monsieur.55 
The  unknown  saluted  the  soldier  in  a lofty  fashion,  and 
ascended  the  staircase ; while  the  cry,  “ Lieutenant,  a 

VOL.  i.  — 6 


82 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


visit  ! ” transmitted  from  sentinel  to  sentinel,  preceded  the 
unknown,  and  disturbed  the  slumbers  of  the  officer. 

Dragging  on  his  boot,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and  hooking 
his  cloak,  the  lieutenant  made  three  steps  towards  the 
stranger. 

“ What  can  I do  to  serve  you,  Monsieur  V*  asked  he. 

“ You  are  the  officer  on  duty,  lieutenant  of  the  Muske- 
teers, are  you  1 ” 

“I  have  that  honor,5 ’ replied  the  officer. 

“ Monsieur,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  I speak  to 
the  king.5’ 

The  lieutenant  looked  attentively  at  the  unknown ; and 
in  that  look,  although  so  brief,  he  saw  all  he  wished  to 
see,  — that  is  to  say,  a person  of  high  distinction  in  an 
ordinary  dress. 

“ I do  not  suppose  you  to  be  mad,”  replied  he  ; “ and 
yet  you  seem  to  me  to  be  in  a condition  to  know,  Mon- 
sieur, that  people  do  not  enter  a king’s  apartments  in 
this  manner  without  his  consent.” 

“ He  will  consent.” 

“ Monsieur,  permit  me  to  doubt  that.  The  king  has 
retired  this  quarter  of  an  hour ; he  must  be  now  undress- 
ing. Besides,  the  word  is  given.” 

“ When  he  knows  who  I am,  he  will  recall  the  word.” 

The  officer  was  more  and  more  surprised,  more  and 
more  subdued. 

“ If  I consent  to  announce  you,  may  I at  least  know 
whom  to  announce,  Monsieur  ] ” 

“You  will  announce  his  Majesty  Charles  II.,  King  of 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.” 

The  officer  uttered  a cry  of  astonishment,  drew  back, 
and  there  might  be  seen  upon  his  pallid  countenance  one 
of  the  most  poignant  emotions  that  ever  an  energetic 
man  endeavored  to  drive  back  to  his  heart. 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


83 


“ Oh  yes,  Sire ; in  fact/’  said  he,  " I ought  to  have 
recognized  you.” 

" You  have  seen  my  portrait,  then  1 ” 

*No,  Sire.” 

" Or  else  you  have  seen  me  formerly  at  court,  before  I 
was  driven  from  France  1 ” 

“No,  Sire,  it  is  not  even  that.” 

“ How,  then,  could  you  have  recognized  me,  if  you 
have  never  seen  my  portrait  or  my  person  'l  ” 

" Sire,  I saw  his  Majesty  your  father  at  a terrible 
moment.” 

" The  day  — ” 

"Yes.” 

A dark  cloud  passed  over  the  brow  of  the  prince ; then, 
dashing  his  hand  across  it,  " Do  you  still  see  any  difficulty 
in  announcing  me  ? ” said  he. 

"Sire,  pardon  me,”  replied  the  officer,  "but  I could 
not  imagine  a king  under  so  simple  an  exterior ; and  yet 
I had  the  honor  to  tell  your  Majesty  just  now  that  I had 
seen  Charles  I.  — But  pardon  me,  Monsieur ; I will  go 
and  inform  the  king.” 

But  returning  after  going  a few  steps,  "Your  Majesty 
is  desirous,  without  doubt,  that  this  interview  should  be 
a secret  1 ” said  he. 

" I do  not  require  it ; but  if  it  were  possible  to  preserve 
it—” 

"It  is  possible,  Sire,  for  I can  dispense  with  informing 
the  first  gentleman  on  duty ; but,  for  that,  your  Majesty 
must  please  to  consent  to  give  up  your  swTord.” 

" True,  true ; I had  forgotten  that  no  one  armed  is 
permitted  to  enter  the  chamber  of  a king  of  France.” 
"Your  Majesty  will  form  an  exception,  if  you  wish  it; 
but  then  I shall  avoid  my  responsibility  by  informing  the 
king’s  attendant.” 


84 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Here  is  my  sword,  Monsieur.  Will  you  now  please 
to  announce  me  to  his  Majesty]” 

“ Instantly,  Sire.”  And  the  officer  immediately  went 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  communication,  which  the 
valet  opened  to  him. 

“ His  Majesty  the  King  of  England  ! ” said  the  officer. 

“ His  Majesty  the  King  of  England  ! ” replied  his  valet 
de  chambre. 

At  these  words  a gentleman  opened  the  folding-doors 
of  the  king’s  apartment,  and  Louis  XIY.  was  seen,  without 
hat  or  sword,  and  his  doublet  open,  advancing  with  signs 
of  the  greatest  surprise. 

“ You,  my  brother,  — you  at  Blois  ! ” cried  Louis  XIV., 
dismissing  with  a gesture  both  the  gentleman  and  the 
valet  de  chambre,  who  passed  out  into  the  next  apartment. 

“ Sire,”  replied  Charles  II.,  “I  was  going  to  Paris,  in 
the  hope  of  seeing  your  Majesty,  when  report  informed 
me  of  your  approaching  arrival  in  this  city.  I therefore 
prolonged  my  abode  here,  having  something  very  partic- 
ular to  communicate  to  you.” 

“Will  this  closet  suit  you,  my  brother1?” 

“ Perfectly  well,  Sire ; for  I think  no  one  can  hear  us 
here.” 

“ I have  dismissed  my  gentleman  and  my  watcher ; 
they  are  in  the  next  chamber.  There,  behind  that  par- 
tition, is  an  unoccupied  closet,  looking  into  the  ante- 
chamber, and  in  that  antechamber  you  found  nobody  but 
a solitary  officer,  did  you  ] ” 

“No,  Sire.” 

“Well,  then,  speak,  my  brother;  I listen  to  you.” 

“ Sire,  I commence,  and  entreat  your  Majesty  to  have 
pity  on  the  misfortunes  of  our  house.” 

The  King  of  France  colored,  and  drew  his  chair  closer 
to  that  of  the  King  of  England. 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


85 


“Sire,”  said  Charles  II.,  “I  have  no  need  to  ask  if 
your  Majesty  is  acquainted  with  the  details  of  my  deplor- 
able history.” 

Louis  XIY.  blushed  this  time  more  strongly  than  before  ; 
then,  stretching  forth  his  hand  to  that  of  the  King  of 
England,  “ My  brother/’  said  he,  “I  am  ashamed  to  say 
so,  but  the  cardinal  scarcely  ever  speaks  of  political  affairs 
before  me.  Still  more,  formerly  I used  to  get  Laporte, 
my  valet  de  chambre , to  read  historical  subjects  to  me ; 
but  he  put  a stop  to  these  readings,  and  took  away 
Laporte  from  me.  So  that  I beg  my  brother  Charles  to 
tell  me  all  those  matters  as  to  a man  who  knows  nothing.” 
“ Well,  Sire,  I think  that  by  taking  things  from  the 
beginning  I shall  have  a better  chance  of  touching  the 
heart  of  your  Majesty.” 

“ Speak  on,  my  brother,  speak  on.” 

“You  know,  Sire,  that,  being  called  in  1650  to  Edin- 
burgh, during  Cromwell’s  expedition  into  Ireland,  I was 
crowned  at  Scone.  A year  after,  wounded  in  one  of  the 
provinces  he  had  usurped,  Cromwell  returned  upon  us. 
To  meet  him  was  my  object ; to  leave  Scotland  was  my 
wish.” 

“And  yet,”  interrupted  the  young  king,  “Scotland  is 
almost  your  native  country,  is  it  not,  my  brother  ? ” 

Yes ; but  the  Scots  were  cruel  compatriots  for  me, 
Sire  : they  had  forced  me  to  forsake  the  religion  of  my 
fathers ; they  had  hung  Lord  Montrose,  the  most  devoted 
of  my  servants,  because  he  was  not  a Covenanter ; and 
as  the  poor  martyr,  to  whom  they  had  offered  a favor 
when  dying,  had  asked  that  his  body  might  be  cut  into 
as  many  pieces  as  there  are  cities  in  Scotland,  in  order 
that  evidence  of  his  fidelity  might  be  met  with  every- 
where, I could  not  leave  one  city,  or  go  into  another, 
without  passing  under  some  fragments  of  a body  which 
had  acted,  fought,  and  breathed  for  me. 


86 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ By  a bold  march  I passed  through  Cromwell’s  army, 
and  entered  England.  The  Protector  set  out  in  pursuit 
of  this  strange  flight,  which  had  a crown  for  its  object. 
If  I had  been  able  to  reach  London  before  him,  without 
doubt  the  prize  of  the  race  would  have  been  mine ; but 
he  overtook  me  at  Worcester. 

“ The  genius  of  England  was  no  longer  with  us,  but 
with  him.  On  the  3d  of  September,  1651,  Sire,  — the 
anniversary  of  the  other  battle  of  Dunbar,  so  fatal  to 
the  Scots,  — I was  conquered.  Two  thousand  men  fell 
around  me  before  I thought  of  retreating  a step.  At 
length  I was  obliged  to  fly. 

“ From  that  moment  my  history  became  a romance. 
Pursued  with  persistent  inveteracy,  I cut  off  my  hair, 
I disguised  myself  as  a woodman.  One  day  spent  amidst 
the  branches  of  an  oak  gave  to  that  tree  the  name  of  the 
royal  oak,  which  it  bears  to  this  day.  My  adventures 
in  the  county  of  Stafford,  whence  I escaped  with  the 
daughter  of  my  host  on  a pillion  behind  me,  still  fill  the 
tales  of  the  country  firesides,  and  would  furnish  matter 
for  ballads.  I will  some  day  write  all  this,  Sire,  for  the 
instruction  of  my  brother  kings. 

“I  will  first  tell  how,  on  arriving  at  the  residence  of 
Mr.  Norton,  I met  with  a court  chaplain,  who  was  look- 
ing on  at  a party  playing  at  skittles,  and  an  old  servant 
wTho  named  me,  bursting  into  tears,  and  who  was  as  near 
and  as  certainly  killing  me  by  his  fidelity  as  another 
might  have  been  by  treachery.  Then  I will  tell  of  my 
terrors  — yes,  Sire,  of  my  terrors  — when,  at  the  house 
of  Colonel  Windham,  a farrier  who  came  to  shoe  our 
horses  declared  they  had  been  shod  in  the  north.” 

“How  strange!”  murmured  Louis  XIY.  “I  never 
heard  anything  of  all  that ; I was  only  told  of  your 
embarkation  at  Brighthelmstone  and  your  landing  in 
Normandy.” 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


87 


“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  Charles,  “ if  Heaven  permits  kings 
to  be  thus  ignorant  of  the  histories  of  each  other,  how  can 
they  render  assistance  to  their  brothers  who  need  it?” 

“ But  tell  me,”  continued  Louis  XIV.,  “ how,  after  be- 
ing so  roughly  received  in  England,  you  can  still  hope  for 
anything  from  that  unhappy  country  and  that  rebellious 
people?” 

“ Oh,  Sire!  since  the  battle  of  Worcester  everything 
is  changed  there.  Cromwell  is  dead,  after  having  signed 
a treaty  with  France,  in  which  his  name  was  placed  above 
yours.  He  died  oh  the  3d  of  September,  1658,  a fresh 
anniversary  of  the  battles  of  Dunbar  and  Worcester.” 

“His  son  has  succeeded  him.” 

“But  certain  men  have  a family,  Sire,  and  no  heir. 
The  inheritance  of  Oliver  was  too  heavy  for  Richard,  — 
Richard,  who  w^as  neither  a Republican  nor  a Royalist ; 
Richard,  who  allowed  his  guards  to  eat  his  dinner  and  his 
generals  to  govern  the  Republic.  Richard  abdicated  the 
protectorate  on  the  22d  of  April,  1659,  more  than  a year 
ago,  Sire. 

“ Since  that  time  England  has  been  nothing  but  a 
gaming-house,  in  which  the  players  throw  dice  for  the 
crown  of  my  father.  The  two  most  eager  players  are 
Lambert  and  Monk.  Well,  Sire,  I,  in  my  turn,  wish  to 
take  part  in  this  game,  where  the  stakes  are  thrown  upon 
my  royal  mantle.  Sire,  it  only  requires  a million  to  cor- 
rupt one  of  these  players  and  make  an  ally  of  him,  or 
two  hundred  of  your  gentlemen  to  drive  them  out  of  my 
palace  at  Whitehall,  as  Jesus  drove  the  money-changers 
from  the  temple.” 

“ You  come,  then,”  replied  Louis  XIV.,  “ to  ask  me  — ” 

“ For  your  assistance,  — that  is  to  say,  not  only  for  that 
which  kings  owe  to  each  other,  but  that  w7hich  simple 
Christians  owe  to  each  other,  — your  assistance,  Sire, 


88 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


either  in  money  or  men.  Your  assistance,  Sire,  and 
within  a month,  whether  I oppose  Lambert  to  Monk,  or 
Monk  to  Lambert,  I shall  have  re-conquered  my  paternal 
inheritance,  without  having  cost  my  country  a guinea,  or 
my  subjects  a drop  of  blood ; for  they  are  now  all  drunk 
with  revolutions,  protectorates,  and  republics,  and  ask 
nothing  better  than  to  fall  staggering  to  sleep  in  the  arms 
of  royalty.  Your  assistance,  Sire,  and  I shall  owe  you 
more  than  I owe  my  father,  — my  poor  father,  who 
bought  at  so  dear  a rate  the  ruin  of  our  house ! You 
may  judge,  Sire,  whether  I am  unhappy,  whether  I am 
in  despair,  for  I accuse  my  own  father ! ” 

And  the  blood  mounted  to  the  pale  face  of  Charles  II., 
who  remained  for  an  instant  with  his  head  between  his 
hands,  and  as  if  blinded  by  that  blood  which  appeared  to 
revolt  against  the  filial  blasphemy. 

The  young  king  was  not  less  affected  than  his  elder 
brother ; he  threw  himself  about  in  his  fauteuil , and 
could  not  find  a single  word  of  reply. 

Charles  II.,  to  whom  ten  years  in  age  gave  a superior 
strength  to  master  his  emotions,  recovered  his  speech  the 
first. 

“ Sire,”  said  he,  “ your  reply  ? I wait  for  it  as  a crimi- 
nal waits  for  his  sentence.  Must  I die  ? ” 

“ My  brother,”  replied  the  French  prince,  “you  ask  me 
for  a million,  — me,  who  was  never  possessed  of  a quarter 
of  that  sum ! I possess  nothing.  I am  no  more  king  of 
France  than  you  are  king  of  England.  I am  a name, 
a cipher  dressed  in  jleur-dedised  velvet,  — that  is  all.  I 
am  upon  a visible  throne ; that  is  my  only  advantage 
over  your  Majesty.  I have  nothing ; I can  do  nothing.” 

“ Can  it  be  so  h ” exclaimed  Charles  II. 

“ My  brother,”  said  Louis,  sinking  his  voice,  “ I have 
undergone  miseries  with  which  my  poorest  gentlemen  are 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


89 


unacquainted.  If  my  poor  Laporte  were  here,  he  would 
tell  you  that  I have  slept  in  ragged  sheets,  through  the 
holes  of  which  my  legs  have  passed ; he  would  tell  you 
that  afterwards,  when  I asked  for  carriages,  they  brought 
me  conveyances  half  destroyed  by  the  rats  of  the  coach- 
houses; he  would  tell  you  that  when  I asked  for  my 
dinner,  the  servants  went  to  the  cardinal’s  kitchen  to 
inquire  if  there  were  anything  for  the  king  to  eat.  And 
look ! to-day,  this  very  day  even,  when  I am  twenty-two 
years  of  age,  — to-day,  when  I have  attained  the  grade 
of  the  majority  of  kings,  — to-day,  when  I ought  to  have 
the  key  of  the  treasury,  the  direction  of  policy,  the 
supremacy  in  peace  and  war,  — cast  your  eyes  around 
me,  see  how  I am  left ! Look  at  this  abandonment,  this 
disdain,  this  silence  ! While  yonder,  — look  yonder  ! 
View  the  bustle,  the  lights,  the  homage ! There ! — 
there  you  see  the  real  king  of  France,  my  brother ! ” 

“ In  the  cardinal’s  apartments  ? ” 

“ Yes,  in  the  cardinal’s  apartments.” 

“ Then  I am  condemned,  Sire  ? ” 

Louis  XIY.  made  no  reply. 

“ Condemned  is  the  word ; for  I will  never  solicit  him 
who  left  my  mother  and  sister  to  die  with  cold  and  hun- 
ger-— the  daughter  and  granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.  — 
if  M.  de  Retz  and  the  Parliament  had  not  sent  them  wood 
and  bread.’’ 

“ To  die  1 ” murmured  Louis  XIV. 

“ Well ! ” continued  the  King  of  England,  “ poor  Charles 
II.,  grandson  of  Henry  IV.,  as  you  are,  Sire,  having  nei- 
ther Parliament  nor  Cardinal  de  Retz  to  apply  to,  will  die 
of  hunger,  as  his  mother  and  sister  had  nearly  done.” 
Louis  knitted  his  brow,  and  twisted  violently  the  lace 
of  his  ruffles. 

This  prostration,  this  immobility,  serving  as  a mark  to 


90 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


an  emotion  so  visible,  struck  Charles  II.,  and  he  took  the 
young  man’s  hand. 

“ Thanks,”  said  he,  “my  brother  ! You  pity  me,  and 
■tfhat  is  all  I can  require  of  you  in  your  present  situation.” 
“Sire,”  said  Louis  XIV.,  with  a sudden  impulse,  and 
raising  his  head,  “ it  is  a million  you  require,  or  two  hun- 
dred gentlemen,  I think  you  say  1 99 

“Sire,  a million  would  be  quite  sufficient.” 

“ That  is  very  little.” 

“ Offered  to  a single  man,  it  is  a great  deal.  Convic- 
tions have  been  purchased  at  a much  lower  price ; and  I 
should  have  to  deal  only  with  venalities.” 

“ Two  hundred  gentlemen  ! Keflect ! — that  is  little 
more  than  a single  company.” 

“ Sire,  there  is  in  our  family  a tradition  that  four  men, 
four  French  gentlemen,  devoted  to  my  father,  were  near 
saving  my  father,  though  condemned  by  a parliament, 
guarded  by  an  army,  and  surrounded  by  a nation.” 

“ Then,  if  I can  procure  you  a million,  or  two  hundred 
gentlemen,  you  will  be  satisfied  ; and  you  will  consider 
me  your  w ell-affect ioned  brother  1 ” 

“ I shall  consider  you  as  my  savior ; and  if  I recover 
the  throne  of  my  father,  England  will  be,  as  long  as  I 
reign  at  least,  a sister  to  France,  as  you  will  have  been  a 
brother  to  me.” 

“ Well,  my  brother,”  said  Louis,  rising,  “ what  you  hes- 
itate to  ask  for,  T will  myself  demand ; that  which  I have 
never  done’  on  my  own  account,  I will  do  on  yours.  I 
will  go  and  find  the  King  of  France  — the  other  — the 
rich,  the  powerful  one,  I mean.  I will  myself  solicit  this 
million,  or  these  two  hundred  gentlemen  ; and  — we  will 
see.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Charles,  “ you  are  a noble  friend,  Sire  — 
a heart  created  by  God  ! You  save  me,  my  brother; 


THE  UNKNOWN  LOSES  HIS  INCOGNITO. 


91 


and  if  you  should  ever  stand  in  need  of  the  life  you  re- 
store me,  demand  it.” 

“ Silence,  my  brother,  — silence  ! ” said  Louis,  in  a sup- 
pressed voice.  “ Take  care  that  no  one  hears  you  ! We 
have  not  obtained  our  end  yet.  To  ask  money  of  Ma- 
zarin, — that  is  worse  than  traversing  the  enchanted  for- 
est, each  tree  of  which  enclosed  a demon.  It  is  more 
than  setting  out  to  conquer  a world.” 

“But  yet,  Sire,  when  you  ask  it  — 99 
“ I have  already  told  you  that  I never  asked,”  replied 
Louis,  with  a haughtiness  that  made  the  King  of  England 
turn  pale. 

And  as  the  latter,  like  a wounded  man,  made  a retreat- 
ing movement,  “ Pardon  me,  my  brother,”  replied  he. 
“ I have  neither  a mother  nor  a sister  who  is  suffering. 
My  throne  is  hard  and  naked,  but  I am  firmly  seated  on 
my  throne.  Pardon  me  that  expression,  my  brother ; it 
was  that  of  an  egotist.  I will  redeem  it,  therefore,  by  a 
sacrifice,  — I will  go  to  Monsieur  the  Cardinal.  Wait  for 
me,  if  you  please,  — I will  return.” 


92 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 

While  the  king  was  directing  his  course  rapidly  towards 
the  wing  of  the  castle  occupied  by  the  cardinal,  taking 
nobody  with  him  but  his  valet  de  chambre , the  officer  of 
Musketeers  came  out,  breathing  like  a man  who  has  for  a 
long  time  been  forced  to  hold  his  breath,  from  the  little 
cabinet  of  which  we  have  already  spoken,  and  which  the 
king  believed  to  be  quite  unoccupied.  This  little  cabinet 
had  formerly  been  part  of  the  chamber,  from  which  it  was 
only  separated  by  a thin  partition ; and  this  partition, 
which  was  only  for  the  eye,  permitted  the  least  indis- 
creet ear  to  hear  every  word  spoken  in  the  chamber. 

There  was  no  doubt,  then,  that  this  lieutenant  of  Mus- 
keteers had  heard  all  that  had  passed  in  his  Majesty’s 
apartment. 

Warned  by  the  last  words  of  the  young  king,  he  came 
out  just  in  time  to  salute  him  on  his  passage,  and  to 
follow  him  with  his  eyes  till  he  had  disappeared  in  the 
corridor. 

Then,  as  soon  as  he  had  disappeared,  he  shook  his  head 
after  a fashion  peculiarly  his  own,  and  in  a voice  which 
forty  years’  absence  from  Gascony  had  not  deprived  of  its 
Gascon  accent,  “ A melancholy  service,”  said  he,  u and  a 
melancholy  master  ! ” 

These  words  pronounced,  the  lieutenant  resumed  his 
place  in  his  fauteuil , stretched  his  legs,  and  closed  his 
eyes,  like  a man  who  either  sleeps  or  meditates. 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 


93 


During  this  short  monologue  and  the  mise-en-scene  that- 
had  accompanied  it,  while  the  king,  through  the  long  cor- 
ridors of  the  old  castle,  proceeded  to  the  apartments  of 
M.  de  Mazarin,  a scene  of  another  sort  was  being  enacted 
in  those  apartments. 

Mazarin  was  in  bed,  suffering  a little  from  the  gout. 
But  as  he  was  a man  of  order,  who  utilized  even  pain,  he 
forced  his  wakefulness  to  be  the  humble  servant  of  his 
labor.  He  had  consequently  ordered  Bernouin,  his  valet 
de  chambre , to  bring  him  a little  travelling-desk,  so  that 
he  might  write  in  bed.  But  the  gout  is  not  an  adversary 
that  allows  itself  to  be  conquered  so  easily  ; therefore  at 
each  movement  he  made,  the  pain  from  dull  became 
sharp. 

“ Is  Brienne  there  ] ” asked  he  of  Bernouin. 

“No,  Monseigneur, ” replied  the  valet  de  chambre ; “ M. 
de  Brienne,  with  your  permission,  has  gone  to  bed.  But 
if  it  is  the  wish  of  your  Eminence,  he  can  speedily  be 
called.” 

“ No ; it  is  not  worth  while.  Let  us  see,  however. 
Cursed  ciphers  ! ” 

And  the  cardinal  began  to  think,  counting  on  his  fin- 
gers the  while. 

“ Oh  ! ciphers,  is  it  1 ” said  Bernouin.  “ Very  well ! if 
your  Eminence  attempts  calculations,  I will  promise  you 
a pretty  headache  to-morrow ; and  with  that  please  to 
remember  M.  Guenaud  is  not  here.” 

“You  are  right,  Bernouin.  You  must  take  Brienne’s 
place,  my  friend.  Indeed,  I ought  to  have  brought 
M.  Colbert  with  me.  That  young  man  goes  on  very 
well,  Bernouin,  very  well ; a very  orderly  youth.” 

“I  do  not  know,”  said  the  valet  de  chambre;  “but  I 
don’t  like  the  countenance  of  your  young  man  who  goes 
on  so  well.” 


94 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Well,  well,  Bernouin ! We  don’t  stand  in  need  of 
your  advice.  Place  yourself  there ; take  the  pen,  and 
write.” 

“ I am  ready,  Monseigneur ; what  am  I to  write  ? ” 

“ There,  that ’s  the  place ; after  the  two  lines  already 
traced.” 

“ I am  there.” 

“ Write  seven  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  livres.” 

“ That  is  written.” 

“ Upon  Lyons  — ” The  cardinal  appeared  to  hesitate. 
“ Upon  Lyons,”  repeated  Bernouin. 

“ Three  million  nine  hundred  thousand  livres.” 

“ Well,  Monseigneur  ? ” 

“ Upon  Bordeaux,  seven  millions.” 

“ Seven  ? ” repeated  Bernouin. 

“Yes,”  said  the  cardinal,  pettishly,  “ seven.”  Then, 
recollecting  himself,  “ You  understand,  Bernouin,”  added 
he,  “ that  all  this  money  is  to  be  spent  ? ” 

“ Eh ! Monseigneur,  whether  it  be  to  be  spent  or  put 
away  is  of  very  little  consequence  to  me,  since  none  of 
these  millions  are  mine.” 

“ These  millions  are  the  king’s ; it  is  the  king’s  money 
I am  reckoning.  Well,  what  were  we  saying?  You 
always  interrupt  me  ! ” 

“ Seven  millions  upon  Bordeaux.” 

“ Ah  ! yes ; that ’s  right.  Upon  Madrid,  four.  I give 
you  to  understand  plainly  whom  this  money  belongs  to, 
Bernouin,  seeing  that  everybody  has  the  stupidity  to 
believe  me  rich  in  millions.  I repel  the  silly  idea.  A 
minister,  besides,  has  nothing  of  his  own.  Come,  go  on  ! 
General  revenue,  seven  millions  ; properties,  nine  millions. 
Have  you  written  that,  Bernouin?” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

“In  the  funds,  six  hundred  thousand  livres;  various 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 


95 


property,  two  millions.  Ah  ! I forgot ; the  furniture  of 
the  different  chateaux  — ” 

“ Must  I put  ‘ of  the  crown  ’ % ” asked  Eernouin. 

“No,  no;  it  is  of  no  use  doing  that,  — that  is  under- 
stood. Have  you  written  that,  Bernouin  h ” 

“Yes,  Monseigneur. ” 

“ And  the  ciphers  h ” 

“ Stand  straight  under  one  another.” 

“ Cast  them  up,  Eernouin.” 

“ Thirty-nine  million  two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
livres,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  the  cardinal,  in  a tone  of  vexation ; “ there 
are  not  yet  forty  millions  ! ” 

Bernouin  recommenced  the  addition. 

“ No,  Monseigneur ; there  want  seven  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  livres.” 

Mazarin  asked  for  the  account,  and  revised  it  carefully. 
“ Yes ; but,”  said  Bernouin,  “ thirty-nine  million  two 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  livres  make  a good  round 
sum.” 

“ Ah,  Bernouin ; I wish  the  king  had  it.” 

“Your  Eminence  told  me  that  this  money  was  his 
Majesty’s.” 

“ Doubtless ; as  clear,  as  transparent  as  possible.  These 
thirty-nine  millions  are  bespoken,  and  much  more.” 

Bernouin  smiled  after  his  own  fashion  — that  is,  like 
a man  who  believes  no  more  than  he  is  willing  to  believe 
— while  preparing  the  cardinal’s  night-draught  and  put- 
ting his  pillow  to  rights. 

“Oh!”  said  Mazarin,  when  the  valet  had  gone  out; 
“ not  yet  forty  millions  ! I must,  however,  reach  the  sum 
of  forty-five  millions  which  I have  determined  on.  But 
who  knows  whether  I shall  have  time  % I am  failing,  I 
depart,  I shall  never  reach  it ! And  yet,  who  knows  that 


96 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


I may  not  find  two  or  three  millions  in  the  pockets  of 
my  good  friends  the  Spaniards  % They  discovered  Peru, 
those  people  did,  and  — what  the  devil ! they  must  have 
something  left.” 

As  he  was  speaking  thus,  entirely  occupied  with  his 
ciphers,  and  thinking  no  more  of  his  gout,  repelled  by 
a preoccupation  which,  with  the  cardinal,  was  the  most 
powerful  of  all  preoccupations,  Bernouin  rushed  into  the 
chamber,  quite  in  a fright. 

“ Well,”  asked  the  cardinal,  “ what  is  the  matter  now  ? 99 

“ The  king,  Monseigneur,  — the  king ! ” 

“How?  — the  king!”  said  Mazarin,  quickly  concealing 
his  paper.  “ The  king  here  ! the  king  at  this  hour  ! I 
thought  he  was  in  bed  long  ago.  What  is  the  matter, 
then  1 ” 

Louis  XIV.  could  hear  these  last  words,  and  see  the 
terrified  gesture  of  the  cardinal,  rising  up  in  his  bed,  for 
he  entered  the  chamber  at  that  moment. 

“ It  is  nothing,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  or  at  least  noth- 
ing which  can  alarm  you.  It  is  an  important  communi- 
cation which  I wish  to  make  to  your  Eminence  to-night, 
— that  is  all.” 

Mazarin  immediately  thought  of  the  marked  attention 
which  the  king  had  given  to  his  words  concerning  Made- 
moiselle de  Mancini,  and  the  communication  appeared  to 
him  probably  to  refer  to  this  source.  He  recovered  his 
serenity  then  instantly,  and  assumed  his  most  agreeable 
air,  — a change  of  countenance  which  inspired  the  king 
with  the  greatest  joy ; and  when  Louis  was  seated,  — 

“ Sire,”  said  the  cardinal,  “ I ought  certainly  to  listen 
to  your  Majesty  standing,  but  the  violence  of  my  com- 
plaint — ” 

“ No  ceremony  between  us,  my  dear  Monsieur  the  Car- 
dinal,” said  Louis,  kindly  : “ I am  your  pupil,  and  not  the 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 


97 


king,  you  know  very  well,  and  this  evening  in  particular, 
as  I come  to  you  as  a petitioner,  as  a solicitor,  and  one 
very  humble,  and  desirous  to  be  kindly  received  too.” 
Mazarin,  seeing  the  heightened  color  of  the  king,  was 
confirmed  in  his  first  idea,  — that  is  to  say,  that  love 
thoughts  were  hidden  under  all  these  fine  words.  This 
time,  political  cunning,  keen  as  it  was,  made  a mistake  ; 
this  color  was  not  caused  by  the  bashfulness  of  a juvenile 
passion,  but  only  by  the  painful  reaction  of  the  royal 
pride. 

Like  a good  uncle,  Mazarin  felt  disposed  to  facilitate 
the  confidence. 

“ Speak,  Sire,”  said  he ; “ and  since  your  Majesty  is 
willing  for  an  instant  to  forget  that  I am  your  subject 
and  call  me  your  master  and  instructor,  I promise  your 
Majesty  my  most  devoted  and  tender  consideration.” 

“ Thanks,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  answered  the  king  5 
“ that  which  I have  to  ask  of  your  Eminence  has  but 
little  to  do  with  myself.” 

“ So  much  the  worse  ! ” replied  the  cardinal ; “ so 
much  the  worse,  Sire  ! I should  wish  your  Majesty  to 
ask  of  me  something  of  importance,  even  a sacrifice  ; but 
whatever  it  may  be  that  you  ask  me,  I am  ready  to  set 
your  heart  at  rest  by  granting  it,  my  dear  Sire.” 

“Well,  this  is  what  brings  me  here,”  said  the  king, 
with  a beating  of  the  heart  that  had  no  equal  except  the 
beating  of  the  heart  of  the  minister:  ‘‘I  have  just  re- 
ceived a visit  from  my  brother  the  King  of  England.” 
Mazarin  bounded  in  his  bed  as  if  he  had  been  brought 
in  contact  with  a Leyden  jar  or  a voltaic  pile,  at  the  same 
time  that  a surprise,  or  rather  a manifest  disappointment, 
inflamed  his  features  with  such  a blaze  of  anger  that 
Louis  XIV.,  although  so  little  of  a diplomatist,  saw  that 
the  minister  had  hoped  to  hear  something  else. 
vol.  1.  — 7 


98 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Charles  II.  V9  exclaimed  Mazarin,  with  a hoarse  voice 
and  a disdainful  movement  of  his  lips.  “ You  have  re- 
ceived a visit  from  Charles  II.  1 99 

“ From  King  Charles  II.*”  replied  Louis,  according  in  a 
marked  manner  to  the  grandson  of  Henry  IV.  the  title 
which  Mazarin  had  forgotten  to  give  him.  “Yes,  Mon- 
sieur the  Cardinal,  that  unhappy  prince  has  touched  my 
heart  with  the  relation  of  his  misfortunes.  His  distress 
is  great,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  and  it  has  appeared  pain- 
ful to  me,  who  have  seen  my  own  throne  disputed,  who 
have  been  forced  in  times  of  commotion  to  quit  my  cap- 
ital,— tome,  in  short,  who  am  acquainted  with  misfor- 
tune, — to  leave  a deposed  and  fugitive  brother  without 
assistance.” 

“ Eh  ! 99  said  the  cardinal,  sharply  ; “ why  had  he  not, 
as  you  have,  a Jules  Mazarin  by  his  side1?  His  crown 
would  then  have  remained  intact.” 

“I  know  all  that  my  house  owes  to  your  Eminence,” 
replied  the  king,  haughtily,  “ and  you  may  believe  well 
that  I,  on  my  part,  shall  never  forget  it.  It  is  precisely 
because  my  brother  the  King  of  England  has  not  about 
him  the  powerful  genius  who  has  saved  me,  — it  is  for  that, 
I say,  that  I wish  to  conciliate  the  aid  of  that  same  genius, 
and  beg  you  to  extend  your  arm  over  his  head,  well  as- 
sured, Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  that  your  hand,  by  touch- 
ing him  only,  would  know  how  to  replace  upon  his  brow 
the  crown  which  fell  at  the  foot  of  his  father’s  scaffold.” 

“ Sire,”  replied  Mazarin,  “ I thank  you  for  your  good 
opinion  with  regard  to  myself,  but  we  have  nothing  to  do 
yonder;  they  are  a set  of  madmen,  who  deny  God,  and 
cut  off  the  heads  of  their  kings.  They  are  dangerous,  ob- 
serve, Sire,  and  filthy  to  the  touch  after  having  wallowed 
in  royal  blood  and  covenantal  dirt.  That  policy  has  never 
suited  me,  — I scorn  it  and  reject  it.” 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 


99 


“ Therefore  you  ought  to  assist  in  establishing  a 
better.” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“The  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  for  example.” 

“ Good  heavens  ! ” cried  Mazarin,  “ does  the  poor  prince 
flatter  himself  with  that  chimera  ] ” 

“ Yes,  he  does,”  replied  the  young  king,  terrified  at  the 
difficulties  of  this  project,  which  the  infallible  eye  of  his 
minister  seemed  to  discover  ; “ he  only  asks  for  a million 
to  carry  out  his  purpose.” 

“ Is  that  all  % — a little  million,  if  you  please  ! ” said 
the  cardinal  ironically,  emphasizing  his  Italian  accent. 
“ A little  million,  if  you  please,  brother!  Bah  ! a family 
of  mendicants ! ” 

“Cardinal,”  said  Louis,  raising  his  head,  “that  family 
of  mendicants  is  a branch  of  my  family.” 

“ Are  you  rich  enough  to  give  millions  to  other  people, 
Sire  % Have  you  the  millions  h ” 

“ Oh  ! ” replied  Louis  XIV.,  wfith  great  pain,  which  he, 
however,  by  a strong  effort  prevented  from  appearing  on 
his  countenance,  — “ oh ! yes,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  I 
am  well  aware  I am  poor ; and  yet  the  crown  of  France  is 
worth  a million,  and  to  perform  a good  action,  I would 
pledge  my  crown,  if  it  were  necessary.  I could  find 
Jews  who  would  be  willing  to  lend  me  a million.” 

“ So,  Sire,  you  say  you  want  a million  ” said  Mazarin. 
“Yes,  Monsieur,  I say  so.” 

“You  are  mistaken,  greatly  mistaken,  Sire  • you  want 
much  more  than  that.  — Bernouin  ! — You  shall  see,  Sire, 
how  much  you  really  want.” 

“ What,  Cardinal ! v said  the  king,  “ are  you  going  to 
consult  a lackey  upon  my  affairs  % ” 

“ Bernouin ! ” cried  the  cardinal  again,  without  appear- 
ing to  remark  the  humiliation  of  the  young  prince. 


100 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Como  here,  Bernouin,  and  describe  the  account  I made 
you  go  into  just  now.” 

“ Cardinal,  Cardinal ! did  you  not  hear  me  ! ” said  Louis, 
becoming  pale  with  anger. 

‘Do  not  be  angry,  Sire  ; I deal  openly  with  the  affairs 
of  your  Majesty.  Every  one  in  France  knows  that ; my 
books  are  as  open  as  day.  What  did  I tell  you  to  do  just 
now,  Bernouin  ? ” 

“ Your  Eminence  commanded  me  to  cast  up  an  account.” 

‘'You  did  it,  did  you  not!” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

“To  verify  the  amount  of  which  his  Majesty,  at  this 
moment,  stands  in  need.  Did  I not  tell  you  so  ? Be 
frank,  my  friend.” 

“Your  Eminence  said  so.” 

“Well,  what  sum  did  I say  I wanted!” 

“ Forty-five  millions,  I think.” 

“ And  what  sum  could  we  find,  after  collecting  all  our 
resources  1 ” 

“ Thirty-nine  million  two  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
francs.” 

“ That  is  correct,  Bernouin ; that  is  all  I wanted  to 
know.  Leave  us  now,”  said  the  cardinal,  fixing  his  bril- 
liant eye  upon  the  young  king,  who  sat  mute  with 
stupefaction. 

“ But  yet  — ” stammered  the  king. 

“ What,  do  you  still  doubt,  Sire ! ” said  the  cardinal. 
“ Well,  here  is  a proof  of  what  I said.” 

And  Mazarin  drew  from  under  his  bolster  the  paper 
covered  with  figures,  which  he  presented  to  the  king,  who 
turned  away  his  eyes,  his  vexation  was  so  profound. 

“ Therefore,  as  it  is  a million  you  want,  Sire,  and  that 
million  is  not  set  down  here,  it  is  forty-six  millions  your 
Majesty  stands  in  need  of.  Well,  I don’t  think  that  any 


THE  ARITHMETIC  OF  M.  DE  MAZARIN. 


101 


Jews  in  the  world  would  lend  such  a sum,  even  upon  the 
crown  of  F ranee.” 

The  king,  clenching  his  hands  beneath  his  ruffles, 
pushed  away  his  chair. 

“ So  it  must  be,  then  ! ” said  he  ; “ my  brother  the  King 
of  England  will  die  of  hunger.” 

“ Sire,”  replied  Mazarin,  in  the  same  tone,  “ remember 
this  proverb,  which  I give  you  as  the  expression  of  the 
soundest  policy  : ‘ Rejoice  at  being  poor  when  your  neigh- 
bor is  poor  likewise.’  ” 

Louis  meditated  for  a few  moments,  with  an  inquisitive 
glance  directed  to  the  paper,  one  end  of  which  remained 
under  the  bolster. 

“ Then,”  said  he,  “ it  is  impossible  to  comply  with  my 
demand  for  money,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  is  it  1 ” 

“Absolutely,  Sire.” 

“ Remember,  this  will  secure  me  a future  enemy,  if  he 
succeeds  in  regaining  his  crown  without  my  assistance.” 

“ If  your  Majesty  only  fears  that,  you  may  be  quite  at 
ease,”  replied  Mazarin,  eagerly. 

“ Very  well,  I say  no  more  about  it,”  exclaimed  Louis 
XIY. 

“Have  I at  least  convinced  you,  Sirel”  placing  his 
hand  upon  that  of  the  king. 

“ Perfectly.” 

“If  there  be  anything  else,  ask  it,  Sire;  I shall  be 
most  happy  to  grant  it  to  you,  having  refused  this.” 

“ Anything  else,  Monsieur1?  ” 

“ Why,  yes ; am  I not,  body  and  soul,  devoted  to  your 
Majesty  1 — Ho,  there  ! Bernouin  ! — lights  and  guards 
for  his  Majesty ! His  Majesty  is  returning  to  his  own 
chamber.” 

“ Not  yet,  Monsieur;  since  you  place  your  good  will  at 
my  disposal,  I will  take  advantage  of  it.” 


102 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“For  yourself,  Sire?”  asked  the  cardinal,  hoping  that 
his  niece  was  at  length  about  to  be  named. 

“No,  Monsieur,  not  for  myself,”  replied  Louis,  “but 
still  for  my  brother  Charles.” 

The  brow  of  Mazarin  again  became  clouded,  and  he 
grumbled  a few  words  that  the  king  could  not  catch. 


MAZARIN’S  POLICY. 


103 


CHAPTEE  XI. 

mazarin’s  policy. 

Instead  of  the  hesitation  with  which  he  had  accosted  the 
cardinal  a quarter  of  an  hour  before,  there  might  be  read 
in  the  eyes  of  the  young  king  that  will  against  which 
a struggle  might  be  maintained,  and  which  might  be 
crushed  by  its  own  impotence,  but  which  at  least  would 
preserve,  like  a wound  in  the  depth  of  the  heart,  the 
remembrance  of  its  defeat. 

“ This  time,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  we  have  to  do  with 
a thing  much  more  easy  to  be  found  than  a million.” 

“ Do  you  think  so,  Sire  ? ” said  Mazarin,  looking  at  the 
king  with  that  penetrating  eye  which  was  accustomed  to 
read  to  the  bottom  of  hearts. 

“ Yes,  I think  so ; and  when  you  know  the  object  of 
my  request  — ” 

“ And  do  you  think  I do  not  know  it,  Sire  1 ” 

“ You  know  what  remains  for  me  to  say  to  you  ? ” 

“ Listen,  Sire  ; these  are  King  Charles’s  own  words  — ” 

“ Oh,  impossible  ! ” 

“ Listen.  ‘And  if  that  miser,  that  beggarly  Italian,’ 
said  he  — ” 

“ Monsieur  the  Cardinal ! ” 

“ That  is  the  sense,  if  not  the  words.  Eh  ! Good 
heavens  ! I wish  him  no  ill  on  that  account ; every  one 
sees  with  his  passions.  He  said  to  you  : ‘ If  that  vile 
Italian  refuses  the  million  we  ask  of  him,  Sire,  — if  we 
are  forced,  for  want  of  money,  to  renounce  diplomacy, 


104 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


well,  then,  we  will  ask  him  to  grant  us  five  hundred 
gentlemen/  ” 

The  king  started,  for  the  cardinal  was  only  mistaken 
in  the  number. 

“ Is  not  that  it,  Sire?”  cried  the  minister,  with  a tri- 
umphant accent.  “ And  then  he  added  some  fine  words  ; 
he  said  : 6 1 have  friends  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel, 
and  these  friends  only  want  a leader  and  a banner.  When 
they  shall  see  me,  when  they  shall  behold  the  banner  of 
France,  they  will  rally  round  me,  for  they  will  compre- 
hend that  I have  your  support.  The  colors  of  the 
French  uniform  will  be  worth  as  much  to  me  as  the 
million  M.  de  Mazarin  will  refuse  us/  — for  he  was  pretty 
well  assured  I should  refuse  him  that  million.  — ‘ I shall 
conquer  with  these  five  hundred  gentlemen,  Sire,  and  all 
the  honor  will  be  yours/  Now,  that  is  what  he  said,  or 
to  that  purpose,  was  it  not  ? — turning  those  plain  words 
into  brilliant  metaphors  and  pompous  images  ; for  they 
are  fine  talkers,  that  family ! The  father  talked,  even  on 
the  scaffold.” 

The  perspiration  of  shame  stood  upon  the  brow  of 
Louis.  He  felt  that  it  was  inconsistent  with  his  dignity 
to  hear  his  brother  thus  insulted,  but  he  did  not  yet 
know  how  to  act  with  him  before  whom  he  had  seen 
every  one  blench,  even  his  mother.  At  last  he  made  an 
effort. 

“ But,”  said  he,  “ Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  it  is  not  five 
hundred  men,  it  is  only  two  hundred.” 

“Well,  but  you  see  I guessed  what  he  wanted.” 

“ I never  denied,  Monsieur,  that  you  had  a penetrating 
eye,  and  that  was  why  I thought  you  would  not  refuse 
my  brother  Charles  a thing  so  simple  and  so  easy  to 
grant  him  as  what  I ask  of  you  in  his  name,  Monsieur 
the  Cardinal,  or  rather  in  my  own.” 


MAZARIN’S  POLICY. 


105 


“ Sire,”  said  Mazarin,  “ I have  studied  policy  thirty 
years,  — first  with  M.  le  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  and  then 
alone.  This  policy  has  not  always  been  over-honest,  it 
must  be  allowed,  but  it  has  never  been  unskilful.  Now, 
that  which  is  proposed  to  your  Majesty  is  dishonest  and 
unskilful  at  the  same  time.” 

“ Dishonest,  Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Sire,  you  entered  into  a treaty  with  Cromwell.” 

“Yes,  and  in  that  very  treaty  Cromwell  signed  his 
name  above  mine.” 

“ Why  did  you  sign  yours  so  low  down,  Sire  1 Crom- 
well found  a good  place,  and  he  took  it ; that  was  his 
custom.  I return,  then,  to  Cromwell.  You  have  a 
treaty  with  him,  — that  is  to  say,  with  England,  since 
when  you  signed  that  treaty  Cromwell  was  England.” 
“Cromwell  is  dead.” 

“ Do  you  think  so,  Sire  ? ” 

“ No  doubt  he  is,  since  his  son  Richard  has  succeeded 
him,  and  has  abdicated.” 

“Yes,  that  is  it  exactly.  Richard  inherited  on  the 
death  of  his  father,  and  England  on  the  abdication  of 
Richard.  The  treaty  formed  part  of  the  inheritance, 
whether  in  the  hands  of  Richard  or  in  the  hands  of 
England.  The  treaty  is,  then,  still  as  good,  as  valid,  as 
ever.  Why  should  you  evade  it,  Sire  ? What  is  changed 
Charles  II.  wants  that  to-day  which  we  were  not  willing 
to  grant  him  ten  years  ago ; but  that  was  foreseen  and 
provided  against.  You  are  the  ally  of  England,  Sire,  and 
not  of  Charles  II.  It  was  doubtless  wrong,  in  a family 
point  of  view,  to  sign  a treaty  with  a man  who  had  cut 
off  the  head  of  the  brother-in-law  of  the  king  your  father, 
and  to  contract  an  alliance  with  a parliament  which  they 
call  yonder  the  Rump  Parliament;  it  was  unbecoming, 
I acknowledge,  but  it  was  not  unskilful  in  a political 


106 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


point  of  view,  since,  thanks  to  that  treaty,  I saved  your 
Majesty,  then  a minor,  the  trouble  and  danger  of  a for- 
eign war,  which  the  Fronde  — you  remember  the  Fronde, 
Sire  1 v — the  young  king  hung  down  his  head  — “ which 
the  Fronde  might  have  fatally  complicated.  And  thus 
I prove  to  your  Majesty,  that  to  change  our  plan  now, 
without  warning  our  allies,  would  be  at  once  unskilful 
and  dishonest.  We  should  make  war  with  the  aggression 
on  our  side ; we  should  make  it,  deserving  to  have  it 
made  against  us  ; and  we  should  have  the  appearance 
of  fearing  it  while  provoking  it,  for  a permission  granted 
to  five  hundred  men,  to  two  hundred  men,  to  fifty  men, 
to  ten  men,  is  still  a permission.  One  Frenchman,  that 
is  the  nation  ; one  uniform,  that  is  the  army.  Suppose, 
Sire,  for  example,  that,  sooner  or  later,  you  should  have 
war  with  Holland,  which,  sooner  or  later,  will  certainly 
happen  ; or  with  Spain,  which  will  perhaps  ensue  if  your 
marriage  fails  ” (Mazarin  stole  a furtive  glance  at  the  king), 
— “ and  there  are  a thousand  causes  that  might  still 
make  your  marriage  fail,  — well,  would  you  approve  of 
England’s  sending  to  the  United  Provinces  or  to  Spain 
a regiment,  a company,  a squadron  even,  of  English 
gentlemen  ] Would  you  think  that  they  kept  wuthin 
the  limits  of  their  treaty  of  alliance  1 ” 

Louis  listened  : it  seemed  so  strange  to  him  that  Ma- 
zarin should  invoke  good  faith,  — he,  the  author  of  so 
many  political  tricks,  called  Mazarinades.  “ And  yet,” 
said  the  king,  “ without  any  manifest  authorization,  I can- 
not prevent  gentlemen  of  my  States  from  passing  over 
into  England,  if  such  should  be  their  good  pleasure.” 

“ You  ought  to  compel  them  to  return,  Sire,  or  at  least 
protest  against  their  presence  as  enemies  in  a country 
allied  with  you.” 

“ Well,  but  come,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  you  who  are 


MAZARIN’S  POLICY. 


107 


so  profound  a genius,  try  if  you  cannot  find  means  to  as- 
sist this  poor  king,  without  compromising  ourselves. ” 

“ And  that  is  exactly  what  I am  not  willing  to  do,  my 
dear  Sire,”  said  Mazarin.  “ If  England  were  to  act  ex- 
actly according  to  my  wishes,  she  could  not  act  better 
than  she  does ; if  I directed  the  policy  of  England  from 
this  place,  I should  not  direct  it  otherwise.  Governed  as 
she  is  governed,  England  is  an  eternal  nest  of  contention 
for  all  Europe.  Holland  protects  Charles  II.,  let  Holland 
do  so  5 they  will  become  angry,  they  will  fight.  They  are 
the  only  two  maritime  powers.  Let  them  destroy  each 
other’s  navy;  we  can  construct  ours  with  the  wreck  of 
their  vessels,  and  shall  save  our  money  to  buy  nails 
with.” 

“ Oh,  how  paltry  and  mean  all  that  is  you  tell  me, 
Monsieur  the  Cardinal  ! ” 

“ Yes,  but  nevertheless  it  is  true,  Sire ; you  must  con- 
fess that.  There  is  this,  still  further.  Suppose  I admit 
for  a moment  the  possibility  of  breaking  your  word  and 
evading  the  treaty,  — it  does  sometimes  happen  that  one 
fails  to  keep  his  word  or  breaks  an  agreement  ; but  that 
is  when  some  great  interest  is  at  stake,  or  when  the  con- 
tract is  found  to  be  too  troublesome,  — well,  you  will 
authorize  the  engagement  asked  of  you : France  — her 
banner,  which  is  the  same  thing  — will  cross  the  Straits 
and  will  fight ; France  will  be  conquered.” 

“ Why  so  f ” 

“ By  my  faith  ! there  is  a pretty  general  for  us  to  fight 
under,  — this  Charles  II.!  Worcester  gives  us  good 
proofs  of  that.” 

u But  he  will  no  longer  have  to  deal  with  Cromwell, 
Monsieur.” 

“ But  he  will  have  to  deal  with  Monk,  who  is  quite  as 
dangerous.  The  brave  brewer  of  whom  we  are  speaking, 


108 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


was  a visionary ; he  had  moments  of  exaltation,  expan- 
sion, inflation,  during  which  he  opened  like  u,  too  full 
cask ; and  from  the  chinks  there  always  escaped  some 
drops  of  his  thoughts,  and  by  the  sample  the  whole  of  his 
thought  was  to  be  made  out.  Cromwell  has  thus  al- 
lowed us  more  than  ten  times  to  penetrate  into  his  very 
soul,  when  one  would  have  conceived  that  soul  to  be  em 
veloped  in  triple  brass,  as  Horace  has  it.  But  Monk ! — 
Oh,  Sire,  God  defend  you  from  ever  having  anything 
political  to  transact  with  Monk  ! It  is  he  who  has  given 
me,  in  one  year,  all  the  gray  hairs  I have.  Monk  is  no 
fanatic ; unfortunately  he  is  a politician  ; he  does  not 
split,  he  keeps  close  together.  For  ten  years  he  has  had 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  one  object,  and  nobody  has  yet  been 
able  to  ascertain  what.  Every  morning,  as  Louis  XL  ad- 
vised, he  burns  his  night-cap.  Therefore,  on  the  day 
when  this  plan,  slowly  and  solitarily  ripened,  shall  break 
forth,  it  will  break  forth  with  all  the  conditions  of  the 
success  which  always  accompany  an  unforeseen  event. 

“ That  is  Monk,  Sire,  of  whom,  perhaps,  you  have 
never  heard,  — of  whom,  perhaps,  you  did  not  know  the 
name  even,  before  your  brother  Charles  II.,  who  knows 
what  he  is,  pronounced  it  before  you.  He  is  a wonder  of 
depth  and  tenacity,  the  two  things  alone  against  which 
intelligence  and  ardor  are  blunted.  Sire,  I had  ardor 
when  I was  young ; I always  had  intelligence.  I may 
safely  boast  of  it,  because  I am  reproached  with  it.  I 
have  done  very  well  with  these  two  qualities,  since,  from 
the  son  of  a fisherman  of  Piscina,  1 have  become  first  min- 
ister of  the  King  of  France  ; and  in  that  quality  your 
Majesty  will  perhaps  acknowledge  I have  rendered  some 
services  to  the  throne  of  your  Majesty.  Well,  Sire,  if  I 
had  met  with  Monk  on  my  way,  instead  of  M.  de  Beau- 
fort, M.  de  Retz,  or  Monsieur  the  Prince,  — well,  we  should 


MAZARIN’S  POLICY. 


109 


have  been  ruined.  If  you  engage  yourself  rashly,  Sire, 
you  will  fall  into  the  talons  of  this  politic  soldier.  The 
casque  of  Monk,  Sire,  is  an  iron  coffer,  in  the  recesses  of 
which  he  shuts  up  his  thoughts,  and  no  one  has  the  key 
of  it.  Therefore,  near  him,  or  rather  before  him,  I bow, 
Sire,  for  I have  nothing  but  a velvet  cap.” 

“ What  do  you  think  Monk  wishes  to  do,  then  ] ” 

“ Eh  ! Sire,  if  I knew  that,  I would  not  tell  you  to  mis- 
trust him,  for  I should  be  stronger  than  he ; but  with 
him  I am  afraid  to  guess  — to  guess  ! — you  understand 
my  word  ] — for  if  I thought  I had  guessed,  I should 
stop  at  an  idea,  and,  in  spite  of  myself,  should  pursue 
that  idea.  Since  that  man  has  been  in  power  yonder,  I 
am  like  those  damned  souls  in  Dante,  whose  necks  Satan 
has  twisted,  and  who  walk  forward,  looking  behind  them. 
I am  travelling  towards  Madrid,  but  I never  lose  sight  of 
London.  To  guess,  with  that  devil  of  a man,  is  to  deceive 
one’s  self,  and  to  deceive  one’s  self  is  to  ruin  one’s  self. 
God  keep  me  from  ever  seeking  to  guess  what  he  aims  at ; 
I confine  myself  to  watching  what  he  does,  and  that  is 
quite  enough.  Now  I believe  — you  observe  the  extent 
of  the  word  I believe  ? — I believe , with  respect  to  Monk, 
ties  one  to  nothing  — I believe  that  he  has  a strong  incli- 
nation to  succeed  Cromwell.  Your  Charles  IT.  has  al- 
ready caused  proposals  to  be  made  to  him  by  ten  persons ; 
he  has  satisfied  himself  with  driving  these  ten  meddlers 
from  his  presence,  without  saying  anything  to  them  but, 

‘ Begone,  or  I will  have  you  hung.’  That  man  is  a sepul- 
chre ! At  this  moment  Monk  is  affecting  devotion  to  the 
Rump  Parliament ; of  this  devotion,  observe,  I am  not 
the  dupe.  Monk  has  no  wTish  to  be  assassinated,  — an 
assassination  would  stop  him  in  the  midst  of  his  opera- 
tions ; and  his  work  must  be  accomplished ; — so  I be- 
lieve — but  do  not  you  believe  what  I believe,  Sire  : for 


110 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


I say  I believe  from  habit  — I believe  that  Monk  is  keep- 
ing well  with  the  Parliament  till  the  day  comes  for  his 
dispersing  it.  Yon  are  asked  for  swords,  but  they  are  to 
fight  against  Monk.  God  preserve  us  from  fighting  against 
Monk,  Sire ; for  Monk  would  beat  us,  and  I should  never 
console  myself  after  being  beaten  by  Monk.  I should  say 
to  myself,  Monk  has  foreseen  that  victory  ten  years.  For 
God’s  sake,  Sire,  out  of  friendship  for  you,  if  not  out  of 
consideration  for  himself,  let  Charles  II.  keep  quiet. 
Your  Majesty  will  make  him  a little  revenue  here  ; you 
will  give  him  one  of  your  chateaux.  Yes,  yes  — wait 
awhile.  But  I forgot  the  treaty,  — that  famous  treaty 
of  which  we  were  just  now  speaking.  Your  Majesty  has 
not  even  the  right  to  give  him  a chateau.” 

“ How  is  that  % ” 

“ Yes,  yes ; your  Majesty  is  bound  not  to  afford  hospi- 
tality to  King  Charles,  and  to  compel  him  to  leave  France 
even.  it  was  on  this  account  we  forced  him  to  quit  it ; 
and  yet  here  he  is  returned  again.  Sire,  I hope  you  will 
give  your  brother  to  understand  that  he  cannot  remain 
with  us ; that  it  is  impossible ; that  he  compromises  us, 

• — or  I myself  — ” 

u Enough,  Monsieur,”  said  Louis  XIV.,  rising.  “ To 
refuse  me  a million,  perhaps  you  have  the  right ; your 
millions  are  your  own.  To  refuse  me  two  hundred  gen- 
tlemen, you  have  still  the  right ; for  you  are  first  minis- 
ter, and  you  have,  in  the  eyes  of  France,  the  responsibility 
of  peace  and  war.  . But  that  you  should  pretend  to  pre- 
vent me,  who  am  king,  from  affording  hospitality  to  the 
grandson  of  Henry  IV.,  to  my  cousin-german,  to  the  com- 
panion of  my  childhood,  — there  your  power  stops,  and 
there  commences  my  will.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Mazarin,  who  was  delighted  at  being  let 
off  so  cheaply,  and  who  had,  besides,  only  fought  so 


M AZARIN’S  POLICY. 


Ill 


earnestly  to  arrive  at  that,  — “ Sire,  I will  always  bend 
before  the  will  of  my  king.  Let  my  king,  then,  keep  near 
him,  or  in  one  of  his  chateaux,  the  King  of  England ; let 
Mazarin  know  it,  but  let  not  the  minister  know  it.” 

“ Good-night,  Monsieur,”  said  Louis  XIY. ; UI  go 
away  in  despair.” 

“ But  convinced ; and  that  is  all  I desire,  Sire,”  replied 
Mazarin. 

The  king  made  no  answer,  and  retired  quite  pensive, 
convinced,  not  of  all  Mazarin  had  told  him,  but  of  one 
thing  which  he  took  care  not  to  mention  to  him  ; and  that 
was  that  it  was  necessary  for  him  to  study  seriously  both 
his  own  affairs  and  those  of  Europe,  for  he  found  them 
very  difficult  and  very  obscure.  Louis  found  the  King  of 
England  seated  in  the  same  place  where  he  had  left  him. 
On  perceiving  him,  the  English  prince  arose  ; but  at  the 
first  glance  he  saw  discouragement  in  dark  letters  upon 
his  cousin’s  brow.  Then,  speaking  first,  as  if  to  facilitate 
the  painful  avowal  that  Louis  had  to  make  to  him,  — 

“ Whatever  may  it  be,”  said  he,  “I  shall  never  forget 
all  the  kindness,  all  the  friendship,  you  have  exhibited 
towards  me.” 

“ Alas  ! ” replied  Louis,  in  a melancholy  tone,  “ only 
sterile  good-will,  my  brother.” 

Charles  IT.  became  extremely  pale  ; he  passed  his  cold 
hand  over  his  brow,  and  struggled  for  a few  instants 
against  a faintness  that  made  him  tremble.  “I  under- 
stand,” said  he  at  last ; “ no  more  hope  ! ” 

Louis  seized  the  hand  of  Charles  II.  “Wait,  my 
brother,”  said  he  ; “ precipitate  nothing  ; everything  may 
change ; it  is  extreme  resolutions  that  ruin  causes  ; add 
another  year  of  trial,  I implore  you,  to  the  years  you  have 
already  undergone.  You  have,  to  induce  you  to  act  now 
rather  than  at  another  time,  neither  occasion  nor  oppor 


112 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


tunity.  Come  with  me,  my  brother;  I will  give  you  one 
of  my  residences,  whichever  you  prefer,  to  inhabit.  I, 
with  you,  will  keep  my  eye  upon  events ; we  will  prepare. 
Come,  then,  my  brother,  have  courage  ! ” 

Charles  II.  withdrew  his  hand  from  that  of  the  king, 
and  drawing  back,  to  salute  him  with  more  ceremony, 
replied,  “ Thanks,  Sire,  with  all  my  heart  ! But  I 
have  prayed  without  success  to  the  greatest  king  on 
earth  ; now  I will  go  and  ask  a miracle  of  God.”  And  he 
went  out  without  being  willing  to  hear  any  more,  his 
head  carried  loftily,  his  hand  trembling,  with  a painful 
contraction  of  his  noble  countenance,  and  that  profound 
gloom  which,  finding  no  more  hope  in  the  world  of  men, 
appeared  to  go  beyond  it,  and  ask  it  in  worlds  unknown. 

The  officer  of  Musketeers,  on  seeing  him  pass  by  thus 
pale,  bowed  almost  to  his  knees  as  he  saluted  him.  He 
then  took  a flambeau,  called  two  musketeers,  and  de- 
scended the  deserted  staircase  with  the  unfortunate  king, 
holding  in  his  left  hand  his  hat,  the  plume  of  which  swept 
the  steps.  Arrived  at  the  door,  the  officer  asked  the 
king  which  way  he  was  going,  that  he  might  direct  the 
musketeers. 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Charles  II.,  in  a subdued  voice, 
“you  who  have  known  my  father,  say,  did  you  ever  pray 
for  him  ? If  you  have  done  so,  do  not  forget  me  in  your 
prayers.  Now,  I am  going  alone,  and  beg  of  you  not  to 
accompany  me,  or  have  me  accompanied  further.” 

The  officer  bowed,  and  sent  away  the  musketeers  into 
the  interior  of  the  palace.  But  he  himself  remained  an 
instant  under  the  porch  to  watch  the  departure  of  Charles 
II.,  till  he  was  lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  winding  street. 
“To  him,  as  to  his  father  formerly murmured  he, 
“ Athos,  if  he  were  here,  would  say  with  reason,  ‘Salu- 
tation to  fallen  majesty  ! ’ ” Then  reascending  the  stair- 


MAZARIN’S  POLICY. 


1155 


case  : “Oh  the  vile  service  that  I follow ! ” said  he,  at 
every  step.  “ Oh,  my  pitiful  master ! Life  thus  spent 
is  no  longer  tolerable,  and  it  is  at  length  time  that  I do 
something ! No  more  generosity,  no  more  energy  ! The 
master  has  succeeded,  the  pupil  is  starved  forever.  Mor- 
dioux  ! I will  not  resist.  Come,  you  men,”  continued  he, 
entering  the  antechamber,  “ why  are  you  all  looking  at 
me  so  h Extinguish  these  flambeaux,  and  return  to  your 
posts.  Ah ! you  were  guarding  me  i Yes,  you  watch 
over  me,  do  you  not,  worthy  fellows  % Brave  fools  ! 1 

am  not  the  Due  de  Guise.  Begone  ! They  will  not  as- 
sassinate me  in  the  little  passage-way.  Besides,'’  added 
he,  in  a low  voice,  “ that  would  be  a resolution,  and 
no  resolutions  have  been  formed  since  M.  le  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu  died.  Now,  with  all  his  faults,  that  was  a 
man  ! It  is  decided  : to-morrow  I will  throw  my  uniform 
to  the  nettles  ” 

Then,  reflecting,  “ No,”  said  he,  “ not  yet ! I have 
one  great  trial  to  make,  and  I will  make  it ; but  that 
— and  I swear  it  — shall  be  the  last,  mordioux  ! 99 

He  had  not  finished  speaking,  when  a voice  issued  from 
the  king’s  chamber.  “ Monsieur  the  Lieutenant ! ” said 
this  voice. 

“ I am  here,”  replied  he. 

“ The  king  desires  to  speak  to  you.” 

“ Humph!”  said  the  lieutenant;  “ perhaps  it  is  for 
what  I was  thinking  about ; ” and  he  went  into  the  king’s 
appartement. 


VOL.  i.  — 8 


114 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  KING  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT. 

As  soon  as  the  king  saw  the  officer  enter,  he  dismissed  his 
valet  de  chambre  and  his  gentleman.  “ Who  is  on  duty 
to-morrow,  Monsieur  ]”  asked  he. 

The  lieutenant  bowed  his  head  with  military  politeness, 
and  replied,  “ I am,  Sire.” 

“ How  ! you  still  ? ” 

“ I always,  Sire.” 

“ How  can  that  be,  Monsieur  ” 

“ Sire,  when  travelling,  the  Musketeers  supply  all  the 
posts  of  your  Majesty’s  household ; that  is  to  say,  yours, 
her  Majesty  the  Queen’s,  and  Monsieur  the  Cardinal’s, 
the  latter  of  whom  borrows  of  the  king  the  best  part,  or 
rather  the  most  numerous  part,  of  the  royal  guard.” 

“ But  in  the  interims'?” 

“ There  are  no  interims,  Sire,  but  for  twenty  or  thirty 
men  who  rest  out  of  a hundred  and  twenty.  At  the 
Louvre  it  is  very  different,  and  if  I were  at  the  Louvre,  I 
should  rest  upon  my  brigadier ; but  when  travelling, 
Sire,  no  one  knows  what  may  happen,  and  I prefer  doing 
my  duty  myself.” 

“ Then  you  are  on  guard  every  day  h ” 

“ And  every  night.  Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Monsieur,  I cannot  allow  that,  — I will  have  you 
rest.” 

“ That  is  very  kind,  Sire ; but  I will  not.” 


THE  KING  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT. 


115 


“ What  do  you  say  1 ” said  the  king,  who  did  not  at 
first  comprehend  the  full  meaning  of  this  reply. 

“ I say,  Sire,  that  I will  not  expose  myself  to  the 
chance  of  a fault.  If  the  devil  had  an  ill  turn  to  play 
me,  you  understand,  Sire,  as  he  knows  the  man  with 
whom  he  has  to  deal,  he  would  choose  the  moment  when 
I should  not  be  there.  My  duty  and  the  peace  of  my 
conscience  before  everything,  Sire.” 

“But  such  duty  will  kill  you,  Monsieur.” 

“ Eh  ! Sire,  I have  performed  it  thirty-five  years, 
and  in  all  France  and  Navarre  there  is  not  a man  in 
better  health  than  I am.  Moreover,  I entreat  you,  Sire, 
not  to  trouble  yourself  about  me.  That  would  appear 
very  strange  to  me,  seeing  that  I am  not  accustomed  to 
it.” 

The  king  cut  short  the  conversation  by  a fresh  ques- 
tion. “ Shall  you  be  here,  then,  to-morrow  morning  ? ” 
“As  at  present'?  Yes,  Sire.” 

The  king  walked  several  times  up  and  down  his  cham- 
ber; it  was  very  plain  that  he  burned  with  a desire  to 
speak,  but  that  he  was  restrained  by  some  fear  or  other. 
The  lieutenant,  standing  motionless,  hat  in  hand,  leaning 
on  his  hip,  watched  him  making  these  evolutions,  and 
while  looking  at  him,  grumbled  to  himself,  biting  his 
mustache:  “For  a demi-pistole,  he  has  not  resolution 
enough ! Parole  cTkonneur  l I would  lay  a wager  he 
does  not  speak  at  all ! ” 

The  king  continued  to  walk  about,  casting  from  time 
to  time  a side  glance  at  the  lieutenant.  “He  is  his  father 
over  again,”  continued  the  latter,  in  his  secret  monologue  ; 
“ he  is  at  once  proud,  avaricious,  and  timid.  The  devil 
take  his  master,  say  I.” 

The  king  stopped.  “ Lieutenant,”  said  he. 

“I  am  here,  Sire.” 


116 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Why  did  you  cry  out  this  evening,  down  below  in 
the  salons,  ‘ On  the  king’s  service ! His  Majesty’s 
Musketeers ! ’ ” 

4 4 Because  you  gave  me  the  order,  Sire.” 

“II” 

“Yourself.” 

“ Indeed,  I did  not  say  a word,  Monsieur.” 

“ Sire,  an  order  is  given  by  a sign,  by  a gesture,  by  a 
glance,  as  intelligibly,  as  freely,  and  as  clearly  as  by  word 
of  mouth.  A servant  who  has  nothing  but  ears  is  only 
half  a good  servant.” 

“Your  eyes  are  very  penetrating,  then,  Monsieur.” 

“ How  is  that,  Sire  1 ” 

“ Because  they  see  what  is  not.” 

“ My  eyes  are  good,  though,  Sire,  although  they  have 
served  their  master  long  and  much;  when  they  have 
anything  to  see,  they  seldom  miss  the  opportunity. 
Now,  this  evening,  they  saw  that  your  Majesty  colored 
with  endeavoring  to  conceal  your  inclination  to  gape ; 
that  your  Majesty  looked  with  eloquent  supplications, 
first  at  his  Eminence,  and  then  at  her  Majesty  the 
Queen-mother,  and  at  length  to  the  door  of  entrance ; 
and  they  so  thoroughly  remarked  all  I have  said,  that 
they  saw  your  Majesty’s  lips  articulate  these  words : 
4 Who  will  get  me  out  of  this  ? 9 ” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Or  something  to  this  effect,  Sire  : ‘ My  Muske- 
teers ! 9 I could  then  no  longer  hesitate.  That  look 
was  for  me  ; the  order  was  for  me.  I cried  out  in- 
stantly, 1 His  Majesty’s  Musketeers  ! ’ And,  besides,  that 
is  proved  to  be  true,  Sire,  not  only  by  your  Majesty’s 
not  saying  I was  wrong,  but  proving  I was  right  by  going 
out  at  once.” 

The  king  turned  away  to  smile ; then,  after  a few 


THE  KING  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT. 


117 


seconds,  he  again  fixed  his  limpid  eye  upon  that  coun- 
tenance, — so  intelligent,  so  bold,  and  so  firm  that  it 
might  have  been  said  to  be  the  proud  and  energetic 
profile  of  the  eagle  in  face  of  the  sun.  “ That  is  all  very 
well,”  said  he,  after  a short  silence,  during  which  he 
endeavored,  in  vain,  to  look  his  officer  down. 

But,  seeing  the  king  said  no  more,  the  latter  pirouetted 
on  his  heels,  and  made  three  steps  towards  the  door, 
muttering,  “ He  will  not  speak  ! Mordioux  ! he  will  not 
speak ! ” 

“ Thank  you,  Monsieur,”  said  the  king  at  last. 

“ Humph  ! ” continued  the  lieutenant ; “ there  only 
wanted  that,  — to  be  blamed  for  having  been  less  of  a 
fool  than  another  might  have  been.”  And  he  gained  the 
door,  allowing  his  spurs  to  jingle  in  true  military  style. 
But  when  he  was  upon  the  threshold,  feeling  that  the 
king’s  desire  drew  him  back,  he  returned. 

“ Has  your  Majesty  told  me  all  1 ” asked  he,  in  a tone 
we  cannot  describe,  but  which,  without  appearing  to 
solicit  the  royal  confidence,  contained  so  much  persuasive 
frankness  that  the  king  immediately  replied,  — 

“ Yes ; but  draw  near,  Monsieur.” 

“Now,  then,”  murmured  the  officer,  “he  is  coming  to 
it  at  last.” 

“ Listen  to  me.” 

“ I will  not  lose  a word,  Sire.” 

“You  will  mount  on  horseback  to-morrow,  at  about 
half-past  four  in  the  morning,  and  you  will  have  a horse 
saddled  for  me.” 

“From  your  Majesty’s  stables  ? ” 

“ No  ; one  of  your  Musketeers’  horses.” 

“ Yery  well,  Sire.  Is  that  all  ? ” 

“ And  you  will  accompany  me.” 

“ Alone  ? ” 


118 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Alone.” 

“ Shall  I come  to  seek  your  Majesty,  or  shall  I wait  ?” 

“ You  will  wait  for  me.” 

“ Where,  Sire  ? ” 

“ At  the  little  park-gate.” 

The  lieutenant  bowed,  understanding  that  the  king 
had  told  him  all  he  had  to  say.  In  fact,  the  king  dis- 
missed him  with  a gracious  wave  of  the  hand.  The 
officer  left  the  chamber  of  the  king,  and  returned  to 
place  himself  philosophically  in  his  fauteuil , where,  far 
from  sleeping,  as  might  have  been  expected,  considering 
how  late  it  was,  he  began  to  reflect  more  profoundly  than 
he  had  ever  reflected  before.  The  result  of  these  reflec- 
tions was  not  so  melancholy  as  the  preceding  ones  had 
been. 

“ Come,  he  has  begun,”  said  he.  “ Love  urges  him  on, 
and  he  goes  forward,  — he  goes  forward  ! The  king  is 
nobody  in  his  own  palace ; but  the  man  perhaps  may 
prove  to  be  worth  something.  Well,  we  shall  see  to- 
morrow morning.  Oh  ! oh  ! ” cried  he,  all  at  once  start- 
ing up,  “ that  is  a gigantic  idea,  mordioux  ! and  perhaps 
my  fortune  depends,  at  least,  upon  that  idea  ! ” After 
this  exclamation,  the  officer  arose  and  marched,  with 
his  hands  in  his  coat-pockets,  about  the  immense  ante- 
chamber that  served  him  as  an  apartment.  The  wax- 
light  flamed  furiously  under  the  stirring  of  a fresh  breeze 
which  stole  in  through  the  chinks  of  the  door  and  the 
window,  and  cut  the  hall  diagonally.  It  threw  out  a 
reddish,  unequal  light,  sometimes  brilliant,  sometimes 
dull ; and  the  tall  shadow  of  the  lieutenant  was  seen 
marching  on  the  wall,  in  profile,  like  a figure  by  Callot, 
with  his  long  sword  and  feathered  hat. 

“ Surely,”  said  he,  “I  am  mistaken  if  Mazarin  is 
not  laying  a snare  for  this  amorous  boy.  Mazarin,  this 


THE  KING  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT. 


119 


evening,  gave  an  address,  and  made  an  appointment  as 
complacently  as  M.  Dangeau  himself  could  have  done,  — 
I heard  him,  and  I know  the  meaning  of  his  words.  ‘To- 
morrow morning,’  said  he,  ‘they  will  pass  opposite  the 
bridge  of  Blois.’  Mordioux ! that  is  clear  enough,  and 
particularly  for  a lover.  That  is  the  cause  of  this  embar- 
rassment ; that  is  the  cause  of  this  hesitation ; that  is 
the  cause  of  this  order,  — ‘ Monsieur  the  Lieutenant  of 
my  Musketeers,  be  on  horseback  to-morrow  at  four  o’clock 
in  the  morning ; • which  is  as  clear  as  if  he  had  said, 
‘ Monsieur  the  Lieutenant  of  my  Musketeers,  to-morrow, 
at  four,  at  the  bridge  of  Blois, — do  you  understand?’ 
Here  is  a State  secret,  then,  which  I,  humble  as  1 am, 
have  in  my  possession  while  it  is  in  action.  And  how  do 
I get  it?  Because  I have  good  eyes,  as  his  Majesty  just 
now  said.  They  say  he  loves  this  little  Italian  doll  furi- 
ously. They  say  he  threw  himself  at  his  mother’s  feet, 
to  ask  her  to  allow  him  to  marry  her.  They  say  the 
queen  went  so  far  as  to  consult  the  court  of  Rome,  whether 
such  a marriage,  contracted  against  her  will,  would  be 
valid.  Oh,  if  I were  but  twenty-five  ! If  I had  by  my 
side  those  I no  longer  have  ! If  I did  not  despise  the 
whole  world  most  profoundly,  I would  embroil  Maza- 
rin  with  the  queen-mother,  France  with  Spain,  and  I 
would  make  a queen  after  my  own  fashion.  But  let 
that  pass ; ” and  the  lieutenant  snapped  his  fingers  in 
disdain. 

“ This  miserable  Italian,  this  poor  creature,  this  sor- 
did wretch,  who  has  just  refused  the  King  of  England  a 
million,  would  not  perhaps  give  me  a thousand  pistoles 
for  the  news  I could  carry  him.  Mordioux  ! I am  falling 
into  second  childhood,  — I am  becoming  stupid  indeed  ! 
The  idea  of  Mazarin  giving  an}Thing  ! ha  ! ha  ! ha  ! ” and 
he  laughed  hilariously,  though  he  was  alone. 


120 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Well,  let  us  go  to  sleep,  — let  us  go  to  sleep ; and  the 
sooner  the  better.  My  mind  is  fatigued  with  my  evening’s 
work,  and  will  see  things  to-morrow  more  clearly  than  to- 
day.” 

And  upon  this  recommendation,  made  to  himself,  he 
folded  his  cloak  around  him,  thinking  with  contempt  of 
his  royal  neighbor.  Five  minutes  after  this  he  was  asleep, 
with  his  hands  clenched  and  his  lips  apart,  allowing  to 
escape,  not  his  secret,  but  a sonorous  sound,  which  rose 
and  spread  freely  beneath  the  majestic  roof  of  the  ante- 
chamber. 


MARIE  DE  MANCINI. 


121 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MARIE  DE  MANCINI. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  lighted  the  majestic  trees  of  the 
park  and  the  lofty  turrets  of  the  castle  with  its  first  beams, 
when  the  young  king,  who  had  been  awake  more  than 
two  hours,  possessed  by  the  sleeplessness  of  love,  opened 
his  shutters  himself,  and  cast  an  inquiring  look  into  the 
courts  of  the  sleeping  palace.  He  saw  that  it  was  the 
hour  agreed  upon;  the  great  court  clock  pointed  to  a 
quarter-past  four.  Pie  did  not  disturb  his  valet  de  chambre , 
wTho  was  sleeping  profoundly  at  some  distance  ; he  dressed 
himself,  and  the  valet,  in  a great  fright,  sprang  up,  think- 
ing he  had  been  deficient  in  his  duty ; but  the  king  sent 
him  back  again,  commanding  him  to  preserve  the  most 
absolute  silence.  He  then  descended  the  little  staircase, 
went  out  at  a side-door,  and  perceived  at  the  end  of  the 
wall  a mounted  horseman,  holding  another  horse  by  the 
bridle.  This  horseman  was  not  to  be  recognized  in  his 
cloak  and  slouched  hat.  As  to  the  horse,  saddled  like 
that  of  a rich  citizen,  it  had  nothing  remarkable  about  it 
to  the  most  experienced  eye.  Louis  took  the  bridle ; the 
officer  held  the  stirrup  without  dismounting,  and  asked 
his  Majesty’s  orders  in  a low  voice. 

“ Follow  me,”  replied  the  king. 

The  officer  put  his  horse  to  the  trot,  behind  that  of  his 
master,  and  they  descended  the  hill  towards  the  bridge. 
When  arrived  at  the  other  side  of  the  Loire,  “ Monsieur,” 
said  the  king,  “you  will  please  to  ride  on  till  you  see  a 


122 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


carriage  coming ; then  return  and  inform  me.  I will  wait 
here.,, 

“ Will  your  Majesty  deign  to  give  me  some  description 
of  the  carriage  lam  charged  to  discover  ] ” 

“ A carriage  in  which  you  will  see  two  ladies,  and  prob- 
ably their  attendants  likewise.” 

“ Sire,  I should  not  wish  to  make  a mistake  ; is  there 
no  other  sign  by  which  I may  know  this  carriage  1 ” 

“ It  will  bear,  in  all  probability,  the  arms  of  Monsieur 
the  Cardinal.” 

“ That  is  sufficient,  Sire,”  replied  the  officer,  fully  in- 
structed in  the  object  of  his  search.  He  put  his  horse  to 
the  trot,  and  rode  sharply  on  in  the  direction  pointed  out 
by  the  king.  But  he  had  scarcely  gone  five  hundred 
paces  when  he  saw  four  mules,  and  then  a carriage,  loom 
up  from  behind  a little  hill.  Behind  this  carriage  came 
another.  It  required  only  one  glance  to  assure  him  that 
these  were  the  equipages  he  was  in  search  of ; he  there- 
fore turned  his  horse,  and  rode  back  to  the  king. 

“Sire,”  said  he,  “here  are  the  carriages.  The  first, 
as  you  said,  contains  two  ladies  with  their  femmes  de 
chambre  ; the  second  contains  the  footmen,  provisions,  and 
necessaries.” 

“ That  is  well,”  replied  the  king,  in  an  agitated  voice. 
“ Please  to  go  and  tell  those  ladies  that  a cavalier  of  the 
court  wishes  to  pay  his  respects  to  them  alone.” 

The  officer  set  off  at  a gallop.  “ Mordioux  ! ” said  -he, 
as  he  rode  on,  “ here  is  a new  and  honorable  employment, 
I hope  ! I complained  of  being  nobody.  I am  the  king’s 
confidant,  — that  is  enough  to  make  a musketeer  burst 
with  pride.” 

He  approached  the  carriage,  and  delivered  his  message 
gallantly  and  intelligently.  There  were  two  ladies  in  the 
carriage,  — one  of  great  beauty,  although  rather  thin ; 


MARIE  DE  MANCINI. 


123 


the  other  less  favored  by  nature,  but  lively,  graceful,  and 
uniting  in  the  light  folds  of  her  brow  all  the  signs  of  a 
strong  will.  Her  eyes,  in  particular,  animated  and  pierc- 
ing, were  more  eloquent  in  expression  than  all  the  amor- 
ous phrases  in  fashion  in  those  days  of  gallantry.  It  was 
to  her  D’Artagnan  addressed  himself,  without  fear  of 
being  mistaken,  — although  the  other  was,  as  we  have 
said,  the  more  handsome  of  the  two. 

“ Madame,”  said  he,  “ I am  the  lieutenant  of  the  Mus- 
keteers, and  there  is  on  the  road  a cavalier  who  awaits 
you,  and  is  desirous  of  paying  his  respects  to  you.” 

At  these  words,  the  effect  of  which  he  watched  closely, 
the  lady  with  the  black  eyes  uttered  a cry  of  joy,  leaned 
out  of  the  carriage  window,  and  seeing  the  cavalier  ap- 
proach, held  out  her  arms,  exclaiming,  “ Ah,  my  dear 
sire  ! ” and  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes. 

The  coachman  stopped  his  team.  The  women  rose  in 
confusion  from  the  carriage ; and  the  second  lady  made 
a slight  reverence,  terminated  by  the  most  ironical  smile 
that  jealousy  ever  imparted  to  the  lips  of  woman. 

“ Marie,  dear  Marie  ! ” cried  the  king,  taking  the  hand 
of  the  black-eyed  lady  in  both  his.  And  opening  the 
heavy  door  himself,  he  drew  her  out  of  the  carriage 
with  so  much  ardor  that  she  was  in  his  arms  before  she 
touched  the  ground.  The  lieutenant,  posted  on  the 
other  side  of  the  carriage,  saw  and  heard  all  without 
being  observed. 

The  king  offered  his  arm  to  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini, 
and  made  a sign  to  the  coachman  and  lackeys  to  proceed. 
It  was  nearly  six  o’clock  ; the  road  was  fresh  and  pleas- 
ant ; tall  trees,  with  the  foliage  still  enclosed  in  the 
golden  down  of  their  buds,  let  the  dew  of  morning  filter 
from  their  trembling  branches,  like  liquid  diamonds ; the 
grass  was  bursting  at  the  foot  of  the  hedges ; the  swal- 


124 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


lows,  only  a few  days  returned,  described  their  graceful 
curves  between  the  heavens  and  the  water ; a breeze,  per- 
fumed by  the  blossoming  woods,  sighed  along  the  road, 
and  wrinkled  the  surface  of  the  waters  of  the  river.  All 
these  beauties  of  the  day,  all  these  perfumes  of  the  plants, 
all  these  aspirations  of  the  earth  towards  the  heavens,  in- 
toxicated the  two  lovers,  vTho,  walking  side  by  side,  lean- 
ing upon  each  other,  eyes  fixed  upon  eyes,  hand  clasped 
within  hand,  went  slowly  by  a mutual  inclination,  and 
did  not  venture  to  speak,  they  had  so  much  to  say. 

The  officer  saw  that  the  king’s  horse  pulled  this  way 
and  that,  and  inconvenienced  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini. 
On  the  pretext  of  taking  the  horse,  he  drew  near  to  them, 
dismounted,  and  walking  between  the  two  horses  he  led, 
did  not  lose  a single  word  or  gesture  of  the  lovers.  It 
was  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini  who  at  length  began. 

“ Ah,  my  dear  sire  ! ” said  she,  “ you  do  not  abandon 
me,  then  ? ” 

“No,”  replied  the  king;  “you  see  I do  not,  Marie.” 

“ I had  been  so  often  told,  though,  that  as  soon  as 
we  should  be  separated  you  would  no  longer  think  of 
me.” 

“ Dear  Marie,  is  it  then  to-day  only  that  you  have  dis- 
covered we  are  surrounded  by  people  interested  in  deceiv- 
ing us  ? ” 

“ But  then,  Sire,  this  journey,  this  alliance  with  Spain'? 
They  are  going  to  marry  you  ! ” 

Louis  hung  his  head.  At  the  same  time  the  officer 
could  see  in  the  sunlight  the  eyes  of  Marie  de  Mancini 
shine  with  the  brilliancy  of  a poniard  starting  from  its 
sheath.  “ And  you  have  done  nothing  in  favor  of  our 
love?”  asked  the  girl,  after  a silence  of  a moment. 

“Ah!  Mademoiselle,  how  could  you  believe  that?  I 
threw  myself  at  the  feet  of  my  mother ; I begged  her,  I 


MARIE  DE  MANCINI. 


125 


implored  her ; I told  her  all  my  hopes  of  happiness  were 
in  you;  I even  threatened  — ” 

“ Well1?  ” asked  Marie,  eagerly. 

“ Well,  the  queen-mother  wrote  to  the  court  of  Rome, 
and  received  as  answer,  that  a marriage  between  us  would 
have  no  validity,  and  would  be  dissolved  by  the  holy 
father.  At  length,  finding  there  was  no  hope  for  us,  I 
requested  to  have  my  marriage  with  the  infanta  at  least 
delayed.” 

“ And  yet  that  does  not  prevent  your  being  on  the  road 
to  meet  her  1 ” 

“ What  would  you  have  ? To  my  prayers,  to  my  sup- 
plications, to  my  tears,  I received  no  answer  but  reasons 
of  State.” 

“ Well,  well  ? ” 

“ Well,  what  is  to  be  done,  Mademoiselle,  when  so 
many  wills  are  leagued  against  me  ? ” 

It  was  now  Marie’s  turn  to  hang  her  head.  “ Then  I 
must  bid  you  adieu  forever,”  said  she.  “ You  know  that 
they  banish  me  ; you  know  that  they  bury  me  ; you  know 
that  they  go  still  further,  — you  know  that  they  are 
marrying  me  also,  — me!  ” 

Louis  became  very  pale,  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his 
heart. 

“ If  I had  thought  that  my  life  only  had  been  at  stake, 
I have  been  so  persecuted  that  I might  have  yielded  ; but 
I thought  yours  was  concerned,  my  dear  sire,  and  I stood 
out  for  the  sake  of  preserving  your  happiness.” 

“ Oh  yes ! my  happiness,  my  treasure  ! ” murmured 
the  king,  more  gallantly  than  passionately  perhaps. 

“ The  cardinal  might  have  yielded,”  said  Marie,  “ if  you 
had  addressed  yourself  to  him,  if  you  had  pressed  him. 
For  the  cardinal  to  call  the  King  of  France  his  nephew  ! 
— do  you  not  perceive,  Sire  ? He  would  have  made  war 


126 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


even  for  that  honor  ; the  cardinal  assured  of  governing 
alone,  under  the  double  pretext  of  having  brought  up  the 
king,  and  given  his  niece  to  him  in  marriage,  — the  cardi- 
nal would  have  combated  all  wills,  overcome  all  obstacles. 
Oh,  Sire  ! I can  answer  for  that.  I am  a woman,  and  I 
see  clearly  into  everything  where  love  is  concerned.” 

These  words  produced  a strange  effect  upon  the  king. 
Instead  of  heightening  his  passion,  they  cooled  it.  He 
stopped,  and  said  with  precipitation  : “ What  is  to  be 
said,  Mademoiselle1?  Everything  has  failed.” 

“ Except  your  will,  I trust,  my  dear  sire  ? ” 

“ Alas  ! ” said  the  king,  coloring,  “ have  I a willl  ” 

“ Oh ! ” Mademoiselle  de  Mancini  murmured  mourn- 
fully, wounded  by  that  expression. 

•“  The  king  has  no  will  but  that  which  policy  dictates, 
but  that  which  reasons  of  State  impose  upon  him.” 

“ Oh  ! it  is  because  you  have  no  love,”  cried  Marie  ; “ if 
you  loved,  Sire,  you  would  have  a will.” 

On  pronouncing  these  words,  Marie  raised  her  eyes  to 
her  lover,  whom  she  saw  more  pale  and  more  cast  down 
than  an  exile  who  is  about  to  quit  his  native  land  forever. 
“ Accuse  me,”  murmured  the  king,  “ but  do  not  say  I do 
not  love  you.” 

A long  silence  followed  these  words,  which  the  young 
king  had  pronounced  with  a perfectly  true  and  profound 
feeling. 

“ I am  unable  to  think,  Sire,”  continued  Marie,  “ that 
to-morrow,  and  after  to-morrow,  I shall  see  you  no  more ; 
I cannot  think  that  I am  going  to  end  my  sad  days  at  a 
distance  from  Paris ; that  the  lips  of  an  old  man,  of  an 
unknown,  should  touch  that  hand  which  you  hold  within 
yours,  — no,  in  truth,  I cannot  think  of  all  that,  my  dear 
sire,  without  my  poor  heart  bursting  with  despair.” 

And  Marie  de  Mancini  did  shed  floods  of  tears.  On 


MARIE  DE  MANCINI. 


127 


his  part,  the  king,  affected,  carried  his  handkerchief  to  his 
mouth,  and  stifled  a sob. 

“ See,”  said  she,  “the  carriages  have  stopped,  my  sister 
waits  for  me,  the  time  has  come ; what  you  are  about  to 
decide  upon  will  be  decided  for  life.  Oh,  Sire  ! you  are 
willing,  then,  that  I should  lose  you  h You  are  willing, 
then,  Louis,  that  she  to  whom  you  have  said  ‘ I love  you  ’ 
should  belong  to  another  man  than  her  king,  her  master, 
her  lover  ? Oh  ! courage,  Louis ! courage  ! One  word, 
a single  word  ! Say  ‘ I will  ! ’ and  all  my  life  is  enchained 
to  yours,  and  all  my  heart  is  yours  forever.” 

The  king  made  no  reply.  Marie  then  looked  at  him  as 
Dido  looked  at  iEneas  in  the  Elysian  fields,  fiercely  and 
disdainfully.  “ Adieu,  then,”  said  she;  “ adieu  life!  adieu 
love  ! adieu  heaven  ! ” 

And  she  made  a step  to  depart.  The  king  detained' 
her,  seized  her  hand,  which  he  glued  to  his  lips,  and,  de- 
spair prevailing  over  the  resolution  he  appeared  to  have 
inwardly  formed,  he  let  fall  upon  that  beautiful  hand  a 
burning  tear  of  regret,  which  made  Marie  start,  so  really 
had  that  tear  burned  her.  She  saw  the  humid  eyes  of 
the  king,  his  pale  brow,  his  convulsed  lips,  and  cried  with 
an  accent  that  cannot  be  described  : “ Oh,  Sire  ! you  are 
a king,  you  weep,  and  I depart ! ” 

As  his  sole  reply,  the  king  concealed  his  face  in  his 
handkerchief.  The  officer  here  uttered  something  so  like 
a roar  that  it  frightened  the  horses.  Mademoiselle  de 
Mancini,  quite  indignant,  quitted  the  king’s  arm,  got 
precipitately  into  the  carriage,  crying  to  the  coachman, 
“ Go  on,  go  on  quickly  ! ” 

The  coachman  obeyed,  flogged  his  mules,  and  the 
heavy  carriage  rocked  upon  its  creaking  axle ; while  the 
King  of  France,  alone,  cast  down,  annihilated,  did  not 
dare  to  look  either  behind  or  before  him. 


128 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  WHICH  THE  KING  AND  THE  LIEUTENANT  EACH  GIVE 
PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 

When  the  king,  like  all  the  people  in  the  world  who  are 
in  love,  had  long  and  attentively  watched  the  disappear- 
ance in  the  horizon  of  the  carriage  which  bore  away  his 
mistress ; wffien  he  had  turned  and  turned  again  a hun- 
dred times  to  the  same  way,  and  had  at  length  succeeded 
in  calming  in  a degree  the  agitation  of  his  heart  and 
thoughts,  he  recollected  that  he  was  not  alone.  The 
officer  still  held  the  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  had  not  lost 
all  hope  of  seeing  the  king  recover  his  resolution.  He 
had  still  the  resource  of  mounting,  and  riding  after  the 
carriage ; they  would  have  lost  nothing  by  waiting  a 
little.  But  the  imagination  of  the  lieutenant  was  too 
rich  and  too  brilliant ; it  left  far  behind  it  that  of  the 
king,  who  took  care  not  to  allow  himself  to  be  carried 
away  by  any  such  luxurious  excess.  He  contented  him- 
self with  approaching  the  officer,  and  in  a doleful  voice, 
“ Come,”  said  he,  “ all  is  ended.  To  horse  ! ” 

The  officer  imitated  this  carriage,  this  slowness,  this 
sadness,  and  leisurely  mounted  his  horse.  The  king 
pushed  on  sharply ; the  lieutenant  followed  him.  At  the 
bridge  Louis  turned  round  for  the  last  time.  The  lieu- 
tenant, patient  as  a god  who  has  eternity  behind  and 
before  him,  still  hoped  for  a return  of  energy,  — but  in 
vain  ; nothing  happened.  Louis  gained  the  street  which 
led  to  the  castle,  and  entered  as  seven  was  striking. 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


129 


When  the  king  had  returned,  and  the  musketeer,  who 
saw  everything,  had  seen  a corner  of  the  tapestry  rise 
at  the  window  of  the  cardinal,  he  breathed  a profound 
sigh,  like  a man  unloosed  from  the  tightest  bonds,  and 
said  in  a low  voice  : “Now  then,  my  officer,  I hope  that 
it  is  over.” 

The  king  summoned  his  gentleman.  “ Please  to  under- 
stand I shall  receive  nobody  before  two  o’clock,”  said  he. 

“ Sire,”  replied  the  gentleman,  “ there  is,  however,  some 
one  who  requests  admittance.” 

“ Who  is  that  ” 

“Your  lieutenant  of  Musketeers.” 

“ He  who  accompanied  meVf 
“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  king,  “ let  him  come  in.” 

The  officer  entered.  The  king  made  a sign,  and  the 
gentleman  and  the  valet  retired.  Louis  followed  them 
with  his  eyes  until  they  had  shut  the  door,  and  when  the 
tapestries  had  fallen  behind  them,  — “ You  remind  me 
by  your  presence,  Monsieur,  of  something  I had  forgotten 
to  recommend  to  you,  — that  is  to  say,  the  most  absolute 
discretion.” 

“ Oh ! Sire,  why  does  your  Majesty  give  yourself  the 
trouble  of  making  me  such  a recommendation  h It  is 
plain  you  do  not  know  me.” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  that  is  true.  I know  that  you  are 
discreet ; but  as  I had  prescribed  nothing  — ” 

The  officer  bowed.  “ Has  your  Majesty  nothing  else 
to  say  to  me  1 ” 

“ No,  Monsieur ; you  may  retire.” 

“Shall  I obtain  permission  not  to  do  so  till  I have 
spoken  to  the  king,  Sire  ] ” 

“ What  have  you  to  say  to  me  1 Explain  yourself. 
Monsieur.” 

VOL.  i.  — 9 


130 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Sire,  a thing  without  importance  to  you,  but  which 
interests  me  greatly.  Pardon  me,  then,  for  speaking  of 
it.  Without  urgency,  without  necessity,  I never  would 
have  done  it,  and  I would  have  disappeared,  mute  and 
insignificant  as  I always  have  been.,, 

“How!  Disappeared!  I do  not  understand  you, 
Monsieur.” 

“ Sire,  in  a word,”  said  the  officer,  “ I have  come  to  ask 
for  my  discharge  from  your  Majesty’s  service.” 

The  king  made  a movement  of  surprise,  but  the  officer 
remained  as  motionless  as  a statue. 

“Your  discharge  — yours,  Monsieur  ? and  for  how  long 
a time,  I pray  ? ” 

“Why,  forever,  Sire.” 

“What!  you  would  quit  my  service,  Monsieur'?”  said 
Louis,  with  an  expression  that  revealed  something  more 
than  surprise. 

“ Sire,  I have  that  regret.” 

“ Impossible  ! ” 

“ It  is  so,  however,  Sire.  I am  getting  old ; I have 
worn  harness  now  thirty-four  or  thirty-five  years ; my 
poor  shoulders  are  tired ; I feel  that  I must  give  place  to 
the  young.  I don’t  belong  to  this  age ; I have  still  one 
foot  in  the  old  one ; and  in  consequence  everything  is 
strange  in  my  eyes,  everything  astonishes  and  bewilders 
me.  In  short,  I have  the  honor  to  ask  your  Majesty  for 
my  discharge.” 

“Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  looking  at  the  officer,  who 
wore  his  uniform  with  an  ease  that  would  have  awakened 
envy  in  a young  man,  “you  are  stronger  and  more 
vigorous  than  I am.” 

“ Oh  ! ” replied  the  officer,  with  an  air  of  assumed  mod- 
esty,  “your  Majesty  says  so  because  I still  have  a good  eye 
and  a tolerably  firm  foot,  because  I can  still  ride  a horse, 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


131 


and  my  mustache  is  black;  but,  Sire,  vanity  of  vanities 
all  that,  illusions  all  that,  — appearance,  smoke,  Sire  ! I 
have  still  a young  air,  it  is  true,  but  I am  old  at  bottom ; 
and  within  six  months  I feel  certain  I shall  be  broken 
down,  gouty,  impotent.  Therefore,  Sire  — ” 

“ Monsieur/’  interrupted  the  king,  “ remember  your 
words  of  yesterday.  You  said  to  me,  in  that  very  place 
where  you  now  are,  that  you  were  endowed  with  better 
health  than  any  other  man  in  France  ; that  fatigue  was 
unknown  to  you ; that  you  cared  not  for  passing  whole 
days  and  nights  at  your  post.  Did  you  tell  me  that, 
Monsieur,  or  not'?  Exercise  your  memory,  Monsieur.” 
The  officer  breathed  a sigh.  “ Sire,”  said  he,  “ old  age 
is  boastful ; and  it  is  pardonable  for  old  men  to  sound 
their  own  praises  when  others  no  longer  praise  them.  It 
is  very  possible  I said  that ; but  the  fact  is,  Sire,  I am 
very  much  fatigued,  and  request  permission  to  retire.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  advancing  towards  the  offi- 
cer with  a gesture  at  once  full  of  address  and  majesty, 
“you  are  not  assigning  me  the  true  reason.  You  wish 
to  quit  my  service,  it  may  be  true,  but  you  disguise  from 
me  the  motive  for  your  retreat.” 

“Sire,  believe  that  — ” 

“ I believe  what  I see,  Monsieur ; I see  a vigorous,  en- 
ergetic man,  full  of  presence  of  mind,  the  best  soldier  in 
France  perhaps;  and  this  person  cannot  persuade  me  the 
least  in  the  world  that  he  stands  in  need  of  rest.” 

“ Ah,  Sire,”  said  the  lieutenant,  with  bitterness,  “ what 
praises  ! Indeed,  your  Majesty  confounds  me  ! Ener- 
getic, vigorous,  brave,  intelligent,  the  best  soldier  in  the 
army  ! But,  Sire,  your  Majesty  exaggerates  my  small 
portion  of  merit  to  such  a point  that,  however  good  an 
opinion  I may  have  of  myself,  in  very  truth  I no  longer 
recognize  myself.  If  1 were  vain  enough  to  believe  only 


132 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


half  of  your  Majesty’s  words,  I should  consider  myself  a 
valuable,  indispensable  man.  I should  say  that  a ser- 
vant possessed  of  such  brilliant  qualities  was  a treasure 
beyond  all  price.  Now,  Sire,  I have  been  all  my  life,  — I 
feel  bound  to  say  it,  — except  at  the  present  time,  appre- 
ciated, in  my  opinion,  much  beneath  my  value.  I there- 
fore repeat,  your  Majesty  exaggerates.” 

The  king  knitted  his  brow,  for  he  saw  a bitter  raillery 
beneath  the  words  of  the  officer.  “ Come,  Monsieur,” 
said  he,  “ let  us  meet  the  question  frankly.  Tell  me,  are 
you  dissatisfied  with  my  service]  No  evasions;  speak 
boldly,  frankly,  — I demand  it.” 

The  officer,  who  had  been  twisting  his  hat  in  his  hands 
with  an  embarrassed  air  for  several  minutes,  raised  his 
head  at  these  words.  “ Oh,  Sire,”  said  he,  “ that  puts 
me  a little  more  at  my  ease.  To  a question  put  so  frankly, 
I will  reply  frankly.  To  tell  the  truth  is  a good  thing,  — 
as  much  from  the  pleasure  one  feels  in  relieving  one’s 
heart,  as  on  account  of  its  rarity.  I will  speak  the  truth, 
then,  to  my  king,  at  the  same  time  imploring  him  to 
excuse  the  frankness  of  an  old  soldier.” 

Louis  looked  at  his  officer  with  anxious  inquietude, 
which  was  manifested  by  the  agitation  of  his  gesture. 
“ Well,  then,  speak,”  said  he,  “ for  I am  impatient  to  hear 
the  truths  you  have  to  tell  me.” 

The  officer  threw  his  hat  upon  a table,  and  his  coun- 
tenance, always  so  intelligent  and  martial,  assumed  all 
at  once  a strange  character  of  grandeur  and  solemnity. 
“ Sire,”  said  he,  “ I quit  the  king’s  service  because  I am 
dissatisfied.  The  valet,  in  these  times,  can  approach  his 
master  as  respectfully  as  I do,  can  give  him  an  account  of 
his  labor,  bring  back  his  tools,  render  the  funds  that  have 
been  intrusted  to  him,  and  say,  ‘ Master,  my  day’s  work 
is  done ; pay  me,  if  you  please,  and  let  us  part.’  ” 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


133 


“ Monsieur  ! Monsieur ! ” exclaimed  the  king,  purple 
with  rage. 

“ Ah,  Sire/’  replied  the  officer,  bending  his  knee  for  a 
moment,  “ never  was  servant  more  respectful  than  I am 
before  your  Majesty  ; only  you  commanded  me  to  tell 
the  truth.  Now  I have  begun  to  tell  it,  it  must  come 
out,  even  if  you  command  me  to  hold  my  tongue.” 

There  was  so  much  resolution  expressed  in  the  deep- 
sunk  muscles  of  the  officer’s  countenance  that  Louis  XIV. 
had  no  occasion  to  tell  him  to  continue ; he  continued, 
then,  while  the  king  looked  at  him  with  a curiosity 
mingled  with  admiration  : — 

“ Sire,  I have,  as  I have  said,  now  served  the  house  of 
France  thirty-five  years ; few  people  have  worn  out  so 
many  swords  in  that  service  as  I have,  and  the  swords  I 
speak  of  were  good  swords  too,  Sire.  I was  a boy,  igno- 
rant of  everything  except  courage,  when  the  king  your 
father  divined  that  there  was  a man  in  me.  I was  a man, 
Sire,  when  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  who  was  a judge  of 
manhood,  divined  an  enemy  in  me.  Sire,  the  history  of 
that  enmity  between  the  ant  and  the  lion  may  be  read, 
from  the  first  to  the  last  line,  in  the  secret  archives  of 
your  family.  If  ever  you  feel  an  inclination  to  view  it, 
do  it,  Sire  ; the  history  is  worth  the  trouble,  — it  is  I 
who  tell  you  so.  You  will  there  read  that  the  lion, 
fatigued,  harassed,  out  of  breath,  at  length  cried  for 
quarter ; and  the  justice  must  be  rendered  him  to  say  that 
he  gave  as  much  as  he  required.  Oh  ! those  were  glori- 
ous times,  Sire,  strewed  over  with  battles  like  one  of 
Tasso’s  or  Ariosto’s  epics  ! The  wonders  of  those  times,  to 
which  the  people  of  ours  would  refuse  belief,  were  every- 
day occurrences.  For  five  years  together  I was  a hero 
every  day,  — at  least,  so  I was  told  by  personages  of 
merit,  — and  that  is  a long  period  for  heroism,  trust  me, 


134 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Sire,  a period  of  five  years.  Nevertheless,  I haye  faith  in 
what  these  people  told  me,  for  they  were  good  judges. 
They  were  named  M.  de  Richelieu,  M.  de  Buckingham, 
M.  de  Beaufort,  M.  de  Retz,  — a rough  genius  himself  in 
street  warfare,  — in  short,  the  king  Louis  XIII.,  and 
even  the  queen,  your  august  mother,  who  one  day  conde- 
scended to  say,  ‘ Thanh  you'  I don’t  know  what  service 
I had  had  the  good  fortune  to  render  her.  Pardon  me, 
Sire,  for  speaking  so  boldly  ; but  what  I relate  to  you,  as 
I have  already  had  the  honor  to  tell  your  Majesty,  is 
history.” 

The  king  bit  his  lips,  and  threw  himself  violently  into 
liis  fauteuil. 

“ I appear  importunate  to  your  Majesty,”  said  the  liem 
tenant.  “ Eh  ! Sire,  that  is  the  fate  of  truth ; she  is  a 
stern  companion  ; she  bristles  all  over  with  steel ; she 
wounds  those  she  attacks,  and  sometimes  him  who  de- 
livers her.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  king;  “ I bade  you  speak, 
— speak  then.” 

“ After  the  service  of  the  king  and  the  cardinal,  came  the 
^service  of  the  regency,  Sire ; I fought  pretty  well  in  the 
Fronde,  — much  less,  though,  than  the  first  time.  The 
men  began  to  diminish  in  stature.  I have,  nevertheless, 
led  your  Majesty’s  Musketeers  on  some  perilous  occasions, 
which  stand  upon  the  orders  of  the  day  of  the  company. 
Mine  was  a beautiful  lot  then  ! I was  the  favorite  of  M. 
de  Mazarin.  Lieutenant  here  ! lieutenant  there  ! lieuten- 
ant to  the  right ! lieutenant  to  the  left ! There  was  not  a 
buffet  dealt  in  France,  of  which  your  humble  servant  was 
not  charged  with  the  dealing.  But  they  soon  became  not 
contented  with  France ; Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  he  sent 
me  to  England  on  Cromwell’s  account,  — another  gentle- 
man who  was  not  over  gentle,  I assure  you,  Sire.  I had 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


135 


fche  honor  to  know  him,  and  I was  well  able  to  appreciate 
him.  A great  deal  was  promised  me  on  account  of  that 
mission.  So,  as  I did  in  it  quite  contrary  to  all  I had 
been  bidden  to  do,  I was  generously  paid,  for  I was  at 
length  appointed  captain  of  the  Musketeers ; that  is  to 
say,  to  the  post  most  envied  at  court,  which  gives  prece- 
dence before  the  marshals  of  France,  — and  with  justice  ; 
for  when  one  mentions  the  captain  of  the  Musketeers 
he  speaks  of  the  flower  of  the  soldiers  and  the  king  of 
the  brave.” 

“ Captain,  Monsieur!”  interrupted  the  king;  “you 
make  a mistake.  Lieutenant,  you  mean  to  say.” 

“ Not  at  all,  Sire,  — I make  no  mistake  ; your  Majesty 
may  rely  upon  me  in  that  respect.  Monsieur  the  Cardi- 
nal gave  me  the  commission  himself.” 

“ Well ! ” 

“ But  M.  de  Mazarin,  as  you  know  better  than  any- 
body, does  not  often  give,  and  sometimes  takes  back  what 
he  has  given ; he  took  it  back  again  as  soon  as  peace  was 
made  and  he  was  no  longer  in  want  of  me.  True  enough, 
I was  not  worthy  to  replace  M.  de  Treville,  of  illustrious 
memory ; but  they  had  promised  me,  and  they  had  given 
me ; they  ought  to  have  stopped  there.” 

“Is  that  what  dissatisfies  you,  Monsieur?  Well,  I will 
make  inquiries.  I love  justice ; and  your  claim,  though 
made  in  military  fashion,  does  not  displease  me.” 

“ Oh,  Sire ! ” said  the  officer,  “ your  Majesty  has  ill 
understood  me ; I no  longer  claim  anything  now.” 

“Excess  of  delicacy,  Monsieur;  but  I will  keep  my 
eye  upon  your  affairs,  and  hereafter  — ” 

“Oh,  Sire!  what  a word!  — hereafter!  Thirty  }mars 
have  I lived  upon  that  promising  word,  which  has  been 
pronounced  by  so  many  great  personages,  and  which 
your  mouth  has,  in  its  turn,  just  pronounced.  Here* 


136 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


after  ! that  is  how  I have  received  a score  of  wTounds, 
and  how  I have  reached  fifty-four  years  of  age,  without 
ever  having  had  a louis  in  my  purse,  and  without  ever 
having  met  with  a protector  in  my  road,  — I,  who  have 
protected  so  many  people ! So  I change  my  formula, 
Sire ; and  when  any  one  says  to  me  ‘ Hereafter ,’  I reply 
'Now.'  It  is  repose  I solicit,  Sire.  That  may  be  easily 
granted  me.  That  will  cost  nobody  anything.” 

“ I did  not  look  for  this  language,  Monsieur,  particu- 
larly from  a man  who  has  always  lived  among  the  great. 
You  forget  you  are  speaking  to  the  king,  to  a gentleman 
who  is,  I suppose,  of  as  good  a house  as  yourself ; and 
when  I say  ‘ Hereafter,’  it  is  a certainty.” 

“I  do  not  at  all  doubt  it,  Sire  ; but  this  is  the  end  of 
the  terrible  truth  I had  to  tell  you.  If  I were  to  see 
upon  that  table  a marshal’s  baton,  the  sword  of  con- 
stable, the  crown  of  Poland,  instead  of  Hereafter , I swear 
to  you,  Sire,  that  I should  still  say  Now  ! Oh,  excuse 
me,  Sire  ! I am  from  the  country  of  your  grandfather, 
Henry  IV.  I do  not  speak  often ; but  when  I do  speak, 
I speak  all.” 

“ The  future  of  my  reign  has  little  temptation  for  you, 
Monsieur,  it  appears,”  said  Louis,  haughtily. 

“ Forgetfulness,  forgetfulness  everywhere!”  cried  the 
officer,  with  a noble  air;  “the  master  has  forgotten  the 
servant,  so  that  the  servant  is  reduced  to  forget  his 
master.  I live  in  unfortunate  times,  Sire.  I see  youth 
full  of  discouragement  and  fear,  I see  it  timid  and  de- 
spoiled, when  it  ought  to  be  rich  and  powerful.  I yes- 
terday evening,  for  example,  open  the  door  of  the  King 
of  France  to  a King  of  England,  whose  father,  humble  as 
I am,  I was  near  saving,  if  God  had  not  been  against  me, 
— God,  who  inspired  his  elect,  Cromwell  ! I open,  I said, 
the  door,  that  is  to  say,  of  the  palace  of  one  brother  to 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


137 


another  brother,  and  I see  — stop,  Sire,  that  presses  upon 
my  heart  ! — I see  the  minister  of  that  king  drive  away 
the  proscribed  prince,  and  humiliate  his  master  by  con- 
demning to  want  another  king,  his  equal.  Then  I see 
my  prince,  who  is  young,  handsome,  and  brave,  who  has 
courage  in  his  heart  and  lightning  in  his  eye,  — I see  him 
tremble  before  a priest,  who  laughs  at  him  behind  the 
curtains  of  his  alcove,  where  upon  his  bed  he  absorbs  all 
the  gold  of  France,  which  he  afterwards  stuffs  into  secret 
coffers.  Yes,  I understand  your  looks,  Sire.  I am  bold 
to  madness ; but  what  is  to  be  said  ] I am  an  old  man, 
and  I tell  you  here,  Sire,  to  you,  my  king,  things  which 
I would  cram  down  the  throat  of  any  one  who  should 
dare  to  pronounce  them  before  me.  You  have  com- 
manded me  to  pour  out  my  heart  before  you,  Sire,  and 
I cast  at  the  feet  of  your  Majesty  the  bile  which  I have 
been  collecting  during  thirty  years,  as  I would  pour  out 
all  my  blood,  if  your  Majesty  commanded  me  to  do 
so.” 

The  king,  without  speaking  a word,  wiped  the  drops 
of  cold  and  abundant  sweat  which  trickled  from  his 
temples.  The  moment  of  silence  which  followed  this 
vehement  outbreak  represented  for  him  who  had  spoken, 
and  for  him  who  had  listened,  ages  of  suffering. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  at  length,  “you  have  pro- 
nounced the  word  4 forgetfulness.’  I have  heard  nothing 
but  that  word ; I will  reply,  then,  to  it  alone.  Others 
have  perhaps  been  able  to  forget,  but  I have  not ; and  the 
proof  is,  that  I remember  that  one  day  of  riot,  — that  one 
day  in  which  the  furious  people,  furious  and  roaring  as 
the  sea,  invaded  the  royal  palace,  — that  one  day  when 
I feigned  to  sleep  in  my  bed,  one  man  alone,  naked 
sword  in  hand,  concealed  behind  my  bolster,  watched 
over  my  life,  ready  to  risk  his  own  for  me,  as  he  had 


138 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


before  risked  it  twenty  times  for  the  lives  of  my  family. 
Was  not  the  gentleman,  whose  name  I then  demanded, 
called  M.  d’Artagnan  'l  Tell  me,  Monsieur.” 

“Your  Majesty  has  a good  memory,”  replied  the 
officer,  coldly. 

“ You  see,  then,’’  continued  the  king,  “ if  I have  such 
remembrances  of  my  childhood,  what  a power  of  remem- 
brance I may  acquire  in  the  years  of  reason.” 

“ Your  Majesty  has  been  richly  endowed  by  God,”  said 
the  officer,  in  the  same  tone. 

“ Come,  M.  d’Artagnan,”  continued  Louis,  with  fever- 
ish agitation,  “ ought  you  not  to  be  as  patient  as  I am  ? 
Ought  you  not  to  do  as  I do  1 Come  ! ” 

“ And  what  do  you  do,  Sire  ] ” 

“ I wait.” 

“Your  Majesty  may  do  so,  because  you  are  young; 
but  I,  Sire,  have  not  time  to  wait : old  age  is  at  my  door, 
and  death  follows,  looking  into  the  very  depths  of  my 
house.  Your  Majesty  is  beginning  life,  its  future  is  full 
of  hope  and  fortune  ; but  I,  Sire,  — I am  at  the  other  side 
of  the  horizon,  and  we  are  so  far  from  each  other  that 
I should  never  have  time  to  wait  till  your  Majesty  came 
up  to  me.” 

Louis  made  another  turn  in  his  apartment,  still  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  brow,  in  a manner  that  would  have 
terrified  his  physicians,  if  his  physicians  had  witnessed 
the  state  his  Majesty  was  in. 

“Very  well,  Monsieur,”  said  Louis  XI Y.,  in  a sharp 
voice ; “you  desire  your  discharge,  and  you  shall  have  it. 
You  offer  me  your  resignation  of  the  rank  of  lieutenant 
of  the  Musketeers  ” 

“ I deposit  it  humbly  at  your  Majesty’s  feet,  Sire.” 

“ That  is  sufficient.  I will  order  your  pension.” 

“ I shall  have  a thousand  obligations  to  your  Majesty.” 


PROOFS  OF  MEMORY. 


139 


“ Monsieur,’'  said  the  king,  with  a violent  effort,  “I 
think  you  are  losing  a good  master.” 

“ And  I am  sure  of  it.  Sire.” 

“ Shall  you  ever  find  such  another  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Sire  ! I know  that  your  Majesty  is  without  equal 
in  the  world ; therefore  will  I never  again  take  service 
with  any  king  upon  earth,  and  will  never  again  have 
other  master  than  myself.” 

“ You  say  sol” 

“ I swear  so,  your  Majesty.” 

“ I shall  remember  that  word,  Monsieur.” 

D’Artagnan  bowed. 

“And  you  know  I have  a good  memory?”  said  the 
king. 

“Yes,  Sire ; and  yet  I should  desme  that  that  memory 
should  fail  your  Majesty  in  this  instance,  in  order  that 
you  might  forget  all  the  miseries  I have  been  forced  to 
spread  before  your  eyes.  Your  Majesty  is  so  much  above 
the  poor  and  the  mean,  that  I hope  — ” 

“ My  Majesty,  Monsieur,  will  act  like  the  sun,  which 
looks  upon  all,  great  and  small,  rich  and  poor,  giving 
lustre  to  some,  warmth  to  others,  life  to  all.  Adieu? 
M.  d’Artagnan,  adieu ; you  are  free.” 

And  the  king,  with  a hoarse  sob,  which  was  lost  in  his 
throat,  passed  quickly  into  the  next  chamber.  D’Artagnan 
took  up  his  hat  from  the  table,  upon  which  he  had  thrown 
it,  and  went  out. 


140 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  PROSCRIBED. 

D’Artagnan  had  not  reached  the  bottom  of  the  staircase, 
when  the  king  called  his  gentleman.  “ I have  a commis- 
sion to  give  you,  Monsieur,”  said  he. 

“ I am  at  your  Majesty’s  commands.’’ 

“ Wait,  then.”  And  the  young  king  began  to  write 
the  following  letter,  which  cost  him  more  than  one  sigh, 
although  at  the  same  time  something  like  a feeling  of 
triumph  glittered  in  his  eyes. 

Mqnsieur  the  Cardinal,  — Thanks  to  your  good  coun- 
sels, and,  above  all,  thanks  to  your  firmness,  I have  succeeded 
in  overcoming  a weakness  unworthy  of  a king.  You  have  so 
ably  arranged  my  destiny  that  I have  been  arrested  by  grat- 
itude at  the  moment  I was  about  to  destroy  your  work.  I 
have  perceived  that  I was  wrong  in  wishing  to  make  my  life 
deviate  from  the  course  you  had  marked  out  for  it.  Assuredly 
it  would  have  been  a misfortune  to  France  and  my  family  if  a 
misunderstanding  had  taken  place  between  me  and  my  min- 
ister. This,  however,  would  certainly  have  happened  if  I had 
made  your  niece  my  wife.  I am  perfectly  aware  of  this,  and 
will  henceforth  oppose  nothing  to  the  accomplishment  of  my 
destiny.  I am  prepared,  then,  to  marry  the  Infanta  Maria 
Theresa.  You  may  at  once  open  the  conference. 

Your  affectionate  Louis. 

The  king,  after  re-perusing  the  letter,  sealed  it  himself. 
“ This  letter  for  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  said  he. 


THE  PROSCRIBED. 


141 


The  gentleman  took  it.  At  Mazarin’s  door  he  found 
Bernouin  waiting  with  anxiety. 

“Well?”  asked  the  minister’s  valet  de  chambre. 

“Monsieur,”  said  the  gentleman,  “ here  is  a letter  for 
his  Eminence.” 

“ A letter  ! Ah  ! we  expected  one,  after  the  little  jour- 
ney of  the  morning.” 

“Oh  ! you  knew,  then,  that  his  Majesty  — ” 

“ In  quality  of  first  minister,  it  belongs  to  the  duties  of 
our  charge  to  know  everything.  And  his  Majesty  prays 
and  implores,  I presume.” 

“ I don’t  know ; but  he  sighed  frequently  while  he  was 
writing.” 

“Yes,  yes,  yes;  we  understand  all  that:  people 
sigh  sometimes  from  happiness  as  well  as  from  grief, 
Monsieur.” 

“ And  yet  the  king  did  not  look  very  happy  when  he 
returned,  Monsieur.” 

“ You  did  not  see  clearly.  Besides,  you  saw  his  Maj- 
esty only  on  his  return,  for  he  was  unaccompanied  except 
by  the  lieutenant  of  the  Guards.  But  I had  his  Emi- 
nence’s telescope ; I looked  through  it  when  he  was  tired, 
and  I am  sure  they  both  wept.” 

“ Well ! was  it  for  happiness  they  wept?  ” 

“ No,  but  for  love ; and  they  vowed  to  each  other  a 
thousand  tendernesses,  which  the  king  asks  no  better 
than  to  fulfil.  Now,  this  letter  is  a beginning  of  the 
fulfilment.” 

“ And  what  does  his  Eminence  think  of  this  love,  which 
is,  by  the  by,  no  secret  to  anybody  ? ” 

Bernouin  took  the  messenger  of  Louis  by  the  arm,  and 
while  ascending  the  staircase,  — “ In  confidence,”  said  he, 
in  a low  voice,  “ his  Eminence  looks  for  success  in  the 
affair.  I know  very  well  we  shall  have  war  with  Spain ; 


142 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


but,  bah  ! war  will  please  the  nobles.  Monsieur  the  Car- 
dinal, besides,  can  endow  his  niece  royally,  nay,  more 
than  royally.  There  will  be  money,  festivities,  and  fire- 
works,— everybody  will  be  delighted.” 

“Well,  for  my  part,”  replied  the  gentleman,  shaking 
his  head,  “ it  appears  to  me  that  this  letter  is  very  light 
to  contain  all  that.” 

44  My  friend,”  replied  Bernouin,  44  I am  certain  of  what 
I say.  M.  d’Artagnan  has  told  me  all.” 

“ Ay,  ay!  and  what  did  he  tell  you?  Let  us  hear.” 

“ I accosted  him  by  asking  him,  on  the  part  of  the  car- 
dinal, if  there  were  any  news,  - — without  discovering 
my  designs,  observe,  for  M.  d’Artagnan  is  a cunning 
hand.  4 My  dear  M.  Bernouin/  he  replied,  4 the  king  is 
madly  in  love  with  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini,  — that  is 
all  I have  to  tell  you.’  And  then  I asked  him  : 4 To  such 
a degree,  do  you  think,  that  it  will  urge  him  to  act  con- 
trary to  the  designs  of  his  Eminence? ’ 4 Ah  ! don’t  ques- 
tion me/  said  he  ; 4 1 think  the  king  capable  of  anything  : 
he  has  a head  of  iron,  and  what  he  wills  he  wills  in 
earnest.  If  he  takes  it  into  his  head  to  marry  Mademoi- 
selle de  Mancini,  he  will  marry  her.’  And  thereupon  he 
left  me  and  went  straight  to  the  stables,  took  a horse, 
saddled  it  himself,  jumped  upon  its  back,  and  set  off  as  if 
the  devil  were  at  his  heels.” 

44  So  that  you  believe,  then  — ” 

44 1 believe  that  Monsieur  the  lieutenant  of  the  Guards 
knew  more  than  he  was  willing  to  say.” 

44  In  your  opinion,  then,  M.  d’Artagnan  — ” 

44  Has  gone,  according  to  all  probability,  after  the  exiles, 
to  take  all  measures  for  the  success  of  the  king’s  love.” 
Chatting  thus,  the  two  confidants  arrived  at  the  door 
of  his  Eminence’s  appartement.  His  Eminence’s  gout 
had  left  him ; he  was  walking  about  his  chamber  in  a 


THE  PROSCRIBED 


143 


state  of  great  anxiety,  listening  at  doors  and  looking  out 
of  windows.  Bernouin  entered,  followed  by  the  gentle- 
man, who  had  orders  from  the  king  to  place  the  letter  in 
the  hands  of  the  cardinal  himself.  Mazarin  took  the 
letter ; but  before  opening  it,  he  got  up  a ready  smile,  — 
a smile  of  circumstance,  an  expression  convenient  for  the 
concealment  of  emotions  of  whatever  sort  they  might  be. 
So  prepared,  whatever  was  the  impression  received  from 
the  letter,  no  reflection  of  that  impression  was  allowed  to 
appear  upon  his  countenance. 

“Well!”  said  he,  when  he  had  read  and  re-read  the 
letter,  “ exceedingly  well,  Monsieur ! Inform  the  king 
that  I thank  him  for  his  obedience  to  the  wishes  of  the 
queen-mother,  and  that  I will  set  about  doing  everything 
for  the  accomplishment  of  his  will.” 

The  gentleman  left  the  room.  The  door  had  scarcely 
closed  before  the  cardinal,  who  had  no  mask  for  Bernouin, 
took  off  that  with  which  he  had  so  recently  covered  his 
face,  and  with  his  most  sombre  expression,  — “ Call  M.  de 
Brienne,”  said  he.  Five  minutes  afterwards,  the  secretary 
entered. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Mazarin,  “ I have  just  rendered  a 
great  service  to  the  monarchy,  the  greatest  I have  ever 
rendered  it.  You  will  carry  this  letter,  which  proves  it, 
to  her  Majesty  the  queen-mother;  and  when  she  shall 
have  returned  it  to  you,  you  will  lodge  it  in  portfolio  B, 
which  is  filled  with  documents  and  papers  relative  to  my 
ministry.” 

Brienne  went  as  desired,  and,  as  the  letter  was  un- 
sealed, did  not  fail  to  read  it  on  his  way.  And  of  course 
Bernouin,  who  was  on  good  terms  with  everybody,  ap- 
proached so  near  to  the  secretary  as  to  be  able  to  read 
the  letter  over  his  shoulder;  so  that  the  news  spread  with 
such  activity  through  the  castle,  that  Mazarin  feared  for 


144 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


a moment  it  would  reach  the  ears  of  the  queen-mother 
before  M.  de  Brienne  could  convey  Louis  XIV. ’s  letter  to 
her.  A moment  after,  orders  were  given  for  departure  ; 
and  M.  de  Conde,  having  been  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
king  at  his  pretended  rising,  inscribed  the  city  of  Poitiers 
upon  his  tablets,  as  the  place  of  sojourn  and  repose  for 
their  Majesties.  Thus  in  a few  instants  was  unravelled 
an  intrigue  which  had  covertly  occupied  all  the  diploma- 
cies of  Europe.  It  had  nothing,  however,  very  clear  as  a 
result,  but  to  make  a poor  lieutenant  of  Musketeers  lose 
his  commission  and  his  fortune.  It  is  true  that  in  ex- 
change he  gained  his  liberty.  We  shall  soon  know  how 
M.  d’Artagnan  profited  by  this.  For  the  moment,  if  the 
reader  will  permit  us,  we  will  return  to  the  hostelry  of 
the  Medici,  of  which  one  of  the  windows  opened  at  the 
very  moment  the  orders  were  given  for  the  departure  of 
the  king. 

The  window  that  opened  was  that  of  one  of  the  cham- 
bers of  Charles  II.  The  unfortunate  prince  had  passed 
the  night  in  reflection,  his  head  supported  by  his  hands, 
and  his  elbows  on  the  table ; while  Parry,  infirm  and  old, 
fatigued  in  body  and  in  mind,  had  fallen  asleep  in  a 
corner.  A singular  fortune  was  that  of  this  faithful  ser- 
vant, who  saw  recommencing  for  the  second  generation 
the  fearful  series  of  misfortunes  which  had  weighed  so 
heavily  on  the  first.  When  Charles  II.  had  well  thought 
over  the  fresh  defeat  he  had  experienced,  when  he  per- 
fectly comprehended  the  complete  isolation  into  which 
he  had  just  fallen,  on  seeing  his  fresh  hope  left  behind 
him,  he  was  seized  as  with  a vertigo,  and  sank  back  in 
the  large  fauteuil  in  which  he  was  seated.  Then  God 
took  pity  on  the  unhappy  prince,  and  sent  to  console  him 
sleep,  the  innocent  brother  of  death.  He  did  not  wake 
till  half-past  six,  — that  is  to  say,  till  the  sun  shone  brightly 


THE  PROSCRIBED. 


145 


into  his  chamber ; and  Parry,  motionless  through  fear  of 
waking  him,  was  observing  with  profound  grief  the  eyes 
of  the  young  man  already  red  with  wakefulness,  and  his 
cheeks  pale  with  suffering  and  privations. 

At  length  the  noise  of  some  heavy  carts  descending 
towards  the  Loire  awakened  Charles.  He  arose,  looked 
around  him  like  a man  who  has  forgotten  everything, 
perceived  Parry,  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  commanded 
him  to  settle  the  reckoning  with  Master  Cropole.  Mas- 
ter Cropole,  being  called  upon  to  settle  his  account  with 
Parry,  acquitted  himself,  it  must  be  allowed,  like  an  hon- 
est man ; he  only  made  his  customary  remark,  that  the 
two  travellers  had  eaten  nothing,  which  had  the  double 
disadvantage  of  being  humiliating  for  his  kitchen,  and  of 
forcing  him  to  ask  payment  for  a repast  not  consumed, 
but  not  the  less  lost.  Parry  had  nothing  to  reply,  and 
paid. 

“I  hope,”  said  the  king,  “it  has  not  been  the  same 
with  the  horses.  I don’t  see  that  they  have  eaten  at 
your  expense,  and  it  would  be  a misfortune  for  travellers 
like  us,  who  have  a long  journey  to  make,  to  have  our 
horses  fail  us.” 

But  Cropole,  at  this  doubt,  assumed  his  majestic  air, 
and  replied  that  the  manger  of  the  Medici  was  not  less 
hospitable  than  its  refectory. 

The  king  mounted  his  horse ; his  old  servant  did  the 
same ; and  both  set  out  towards  Paris,  without  meeting  a 
single  person  on  their  road,  in  the  streets  or  the  faubourgs 
of  the  city.  For  the  prince  the  blow  was  the  more  severe, 
because  it  was  another  banishment.  The  unfortunate 
cling  to  the  smallest  hopes,  as  the  happy  do  to  the  great- 
est good ; and  when  they  are  obliged  to  quit  the  place 
where  that  hope  has  soothed  their  hearts,  they  experience 
the  mortal  regret  which  the  banished  man  feels  when  he 
VOL.  i.  — 10 


146 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


places  his  foot  upon  the  vessel  which  is  to  bear  him  into 
exile.  It  appears  that  the  heart  already  wounded  so 
many  times  suffers  from  the  least  scratch ; it  appears 
that  it  considers  as  a good  the  momentary  absence  of  evil, 
which  is  nothing  but  the  absence  of  pain ; and  that  God, 
into  the  most  terrible  misfortunes,  has  thrown  hope  as 
the  drop  of  water  which  the  rich  bad  man  in  hell  entreated 
of  Lazarus. 

For  one  instant  even  the  hope  of  Charles  II.  had  been 
more  than  a fugitive  joy ; that  was  when  he  found  him- 
self so  kindly  welcomed  by  his  brother  Louis ; then  it 
had  taken  a form  and  had  become  a reality ; then,  all  at 
once,  the  refusal  of  Mazarin  had  reduced  the  factitious 
reality  to  the  state  of  a dream.  This  promise  of  Louis 
XIV.,  so  soon  withdrawn,  had  been  nothing  but  a mock- 
ery, — a mockery  like  his  crown,  like  his  sceptre,  like 
his  friends,  like  all  that  had  surrounded  his  royal  child- 
hood, and  had  abandoned  his  proscribed  youth.  Mockery  ! 
everything  was  a mockery  for  Charles  II.  except  the  cold, 
black  repose  promised  by  death. 

Such  were  the  ideas  of  the  unfortunate  prince  while 
sitting  listlessly  upon  his  horse,  to  which  he  abandoned 
the  reins.  He  rode  along  slowly  beneath  the  warm  and 
pleasant  sun  of  May,  in  which  the  sombre  misanthropy 
of  the  exile  perceived  a last  insult  to  his  grief. 


“ REMEMBER  ! ” 


147 


CHAPTEK  XVI. 

“ REMEMBER  ! ” 

A horseman  who  was  riding  rapidly  along  the  road  lead- 
ing towards  Blois,  which  he  had  left  nearly  half  an  hour 
before,  passed  the  two  travellers,  and,  though  apparently 
in  haste,  raised  his  hat  as  he  went  by.  The  king  scarcely 
observed  this  young  man,  who  was  about  twenty-five 
years  of  age.  Turning  round  several  times,  he  made 
friendly  gestures  to  a man  standing  before  the  gate  of  a 
handsome  white-and-red  house,  — that  is  to  say,  built  of 
brick  and  stone,  with  a slated  roof,  situated  on  the  left 
hand  of  the  road  the  prince  was  travelling. 

This  man,  old,  tall,  and  thin,  with  white  hair,  — we 
speak  of  the  man  standing  by  the  gate,  — this  man  replied 
to  the  farewell  signals  of  the  youth  by  signs  of  parting  as 
tender  as  could  have  been  made  by  a father.  The  young 
man  disappeared  at  the  first  turning  of  the  road,  bordered 
by  fine  trees  ; and  the  old  man  was  preparing  to  return  to 
the  house,  when  the  two  travellers,  arriving  in  front  of 
the  gate,  attracted  his  attention. 

The  king,  we  have  said,  was  riding  with  his  head  cast 
down,  his  arms  inert,  leaving  his  horse  to  go  what  pace 
he  liked ; while  Parry,  behind  him,  the  better  to  imbibe 
the  genial  influence  of  the  sun,  had  taken  off  his  hat,  and 
was  looking  about  to  the.  right  and  left.  His  eyes  en- 
countered those  of  the  old  man  leaning  against  the  gate, 
who,  as  if  struck  by  some  strange  spectacle,  uttered  an 
exclamation,  and  made  one  step  towards  the  two  travellers. 


148 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


From  Parry  his  eyes  immediately  turned  towards  the 
king,  upon  whom  they  stopped  for  an  instant.  This  ex- 
amination, however  rapid,  was  reflected  instantly  in  a 
visible  manner  upon  the  features  of  the  tall  old  man. 
For  scarcely  had  he  recognized  the  younger  of  the  travel- 
lers— and  we  say  recognized,  for  nothing  but  a perfect 
recognition  could  have  explained  such  an  act  — scarcely, 
we  say,  had  he  recognized  the  younger  of  the  two  travel- 
lers, than  he  joined  his  hands  in  respectful  surprise,  and 
raising  his  hat  from  his  head,  bowed  so  profoundly  that 
it  might  have  been  said  he  was  kneeling.  This  demon- 
stration, however  distracted,  or  rather  however  absorbed, 
was  the  king  in  his  reflections,  attracted  his  attention  in- 
stantly ; and  checking  his  horse  and  turning  towards 
Parry,  he  exclaimed,  “ Good  God,  Parry  ! who  is  that  man 
who  salutes  me  in  such  a marked  manner'?  Can  he  know 
me,  think  you  ? ” 

Parry,  much  agitated  and  very  pale,  had  already  turned 
his  horse  towards  the  gate.  “x4h,  Sire!”  said  he,  stop- 
ping suddenly  at  five  or  six  paces’  distance  from  the  still 
bending  old  man ; u Sire,  I am  seized  with  astonishment, 
for  I think  I recognize  that  brave  man.  Yes,  it  must  be 
he ! Will  your  Maiesty  permit  me  to  speak  to  him'?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Can  it  be  you,  M.  Grimaud?”  asked  Parry. 

“Yes,  it  is,”  replied  the  tall  old  man,  straightening 
himself,  but  without  abandoning  his  respectful  attitude. 

“ Sire,”  then  said  Parry,  “ I was  not  deceived.  This 
good  man  is  the  servant  of  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  ; and  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere,  if  you  remember,  is  the  worthy  gentle- 
man of  whom  I have  so  often  spoken  to  your  Majesty 
that  the  remembrance  of  him  must  remain,  not  only  in 
your  mind,  but  in  your  heart.” 

“ He  who  was  present  at  the  last  moments  of  the 


REMEMBER  ! ” 


149 


king  my  father!”  asked  Charles,  evidently  affected  at 
the  remembrance. 

“ The  same,  Sire.” 

“ Alas ! ” said  Charles ; and  then  addressing  Grimaud, 
whose  penetrating  and  intelligent  eyes  seemed  to  search 
and  divine  his  thoughts,  “ My  friend,”  said  he,  “does 
your  master,  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere,  live  in  this 
neighborhood  h ” 

“ There,”  replied  Grimaud,  pointing  with  his  out- 
stretched arm  to  the  white-and-red  house  behind  the 
gate. 

“ And  is  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  at  home  at  present  1 ” 

“At  the  back,  under  the  chestnut-trees.” 

“ Parry,”  said  the  king,  “ I will  not  miss  this  oppor- 
tunity, so  precious  for  me,  to  thank  the  gentleman  to 
whom  our  house  is  indebted  for  such  a noble  example  of 
devotedness  and  generosity.  Hold  my  horse,  my  friend, 
if  you  please.”  And,  throwing  the  bridle  to  Grimaud, 
the  king  entered  the  abode  of  Athos,  quite  alone,  as  one 
equal  enters  the  dwelling  of  another.  Charles  had  been 
informed  by  the  concise  explanation  of  Grimaud,  “At 
the  back,  under  the  chestnut-trees ; ” he  left,  therefore, 
the  house  on  the  left,  and  went  straight  down  the  path 
indicated.  The  thing  was  easy ; the  tops  of  those  noble 
trees,  already  covered  with  leaves  and  flowers,  rose  above 
all  the  rest.  On  arriving  under  the  lozenges,  by  turns 
luminous  and  dark,  which  checkered  the  ground  of  this 
path  according  as  the  trees  were  more  or  less  in  leaf,  the 
young  prince  perceived  a gentleman  walking  with  his 
arms  behind  him,  apparently  plunged  in  a profound 
reverie.  No  doubt  he  had  often  had  this  gentleman 
described  to  him,  for  without  hesitating,  Charles  IT. 
walked  straight  up  to  him.  At  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps the  Comte  de  la  Fere  raised  his  head,  and  seeing 


150 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


an  unknown  man  of  a noble  and  elegant  carriage  coming 
towards  him,  he  lifted  his  hat  and  waited.  At  some 
paces  from  him,  Charles  II.  likewise  took  off  his  hat. 
Then,  as  if  in  reply  to  the  count’s  mute  interrogation,  — 

“ Monsieur  the  Count,”  said  he,  “ I come  to  discharge 
a duty  towards  you.  I have,  for  a long  time,  had  the 
expression  of  a profound  gratitude  to  bring  you.  I am 
Charles  II.,  son  of  Charles  Stuart,  who  reigned  in  Eng- 
land, and  died  on  the  scaffold.” 

On  hearing  this  illustrious  name,  Athos  felt  a kind  of 
shudder  creep  through  his  veins ; but  at  the  sight  of  the 
young  prince  standing  uncovered  before  him  and  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  towards  him,  two  tears,  for  an  instant, 
dimmed  his  brilliant  eyes.  He  bent  respectfully,  but  the 
prince  took  him  by  the  hand. 

“ See  how  unfortunate  I am,  Monsieur  the  Count ; it 
is  only  due  to  chance  that  I have  met  with  you.  Alas ! 
I ought  to  have  people  around  me  whom  I love  and  honor, 
whereas  I am  reduced  to  preserve  their  services  in  my 
heart,  and  their  names  in  my  memory ; so  that  if  your 
servant  had  not  recognized  mine,  I should  have  passed 
by  your  door  as  by  that  of  a stranger.” 

“ It  is  but  too  true,”  said  Athos,  replying  with  his 
voice  to  the  first  part  of  the  king’s  speech,  and  with 
a bow  to  the  second,  — “ it  is  but  too  true,  indeed,  that 
your  Majesty  has  seen  very  evil  days.” 

“ And  worse,  alas  ! ” replied  Charles,  “ are  perhaps  still 
to  come.” 

“ Sire,  let  us  hope.” 

“ Count,  Count,”  continued  Charles,  shaking  his  head, 
“ I entertained  hope  till  last  night,  in  the  manner  of  a 
good  Christian,  I assure  you.” 

Athos  looked  at  the  king  as  if  to  question  him. 

“ Oh,  the  story  is  soon  told,”  said  Charles.  “ Pro- 


REMEMBER  ! ” 


151 


scribed,  despoiled,  disdained,  I resolved,  in  spite  of  all 
my  repugnance,  to  tempt  fortune  one  last  time.  Is  it 
not  written  above,  that,  for  our  family,  all  good  fortune 
and  all  bad  fortune  shall  always  come  from  France? 
You  know  something  of  that,  Monsieur,  — you,  who  are 
one  of  the  Frenchmen  whom  my  unfortunate  father  found 
at  the  foot  of  his  scaffold,  on  the  day  of  his  death,  after 
having  found  them  at  his  right  hand  on  the  days  of 
battle.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  modestly,  “ I was  not  alone.  I and 
my  companions  did,  under  the  circumstances,  our  duty 
as  gentlemen,  and  that  was  all.  Your  Majesty  was  about 
to  do  me  the  honor  to  relate  — ” 

“That  is  true.  I had  the  protection  — pardon  my 
hesitation,  Count,  but,  for  a Stuart,  you,  who  understand 
everything,  you  will  comprehend  that  the  word  is  hard 
to  pronounce,  — I had,  I say,  the  protection  of  my  cousin 
the  Stadtholder  of  Holland  ; but  without  the  interven- 
tion, or  at  least  without  the  authorization  of  France,  the 
stadtholder  would  not  take  the  initiative.  I came,  then, 
to  ask  this  authorization  of  the  King  of  France,  who  has 
refused  me.” 

“ The  king  has  refused  you,  Sire  ! ” 

“Oh,  not  he;  all  justice  must  be  rendered  to  my 
young  brother  Louis ; but  M.  de  Mazarin  — ” 

Athos  bit  his  lips. 

“ You  perhaps  think  I had  a right  to  expect  this 
refusal  ? ” said  the  king,  who  had  remarked  the  move- 
ment. 

“That  was,  in  truth,  my  thought,  Sire,”  replied  Athos, 
respectfully;  “ I know  that  Italian  of  old.” 

“ Then  I determined  to  push  the  matter  to  a conclu- 
sion and  know  at  once  the  last  word  of  my  destiny.  I 
told  my  brother  Louis  that,  not  to  compromise  either 


152 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


France  or  Holland,  I would  tempt  fortune  myself  in 
person,  as  I had  already  done,  with  two  hundred  gentle- 
men, if  he  would  give  them  to  me  ; and  a million,  if  he 
would  lend  it  me.” 

“ Well,  Sire  ? ” 

“ Well,  Monsieur,  I am  suffering  at  this  moment  some- 
thing strange ; and  that  is,  the  satisfaction  of  despair. 
There  is  in  certain  souls  — and  I have  just  discovered 
that  mine  is  of  the  number  — a real  satisfaction  in  the 
assurance  that  all  is  lost,  and  the  time  is  come  to  yield.” 

“Oh,  I hope,”  said  Athos,  “that  your  Majesty  has  not 
come  to  that  extremity.” 

“ To  say  so,  Monsieur  the  Count,  to  endeavor  to  revive 
hope  in  my  heart,  you  must  have  ill  understood  what 
I have  just  told  you.  I came  to  Blois  to  ask  of  my 
brother  Louis  the  alms  of  a million,  with  which  I had  the 
hope  of  re-establishing  my  affairs ; and  my  brother  Louis 
has  refused  me.  You  see,  then,  plainly  that  all  is  lost.” 

“Will  your  Majesty  permit  me  to  express  a contrary 
opinion  1 ” 

“ How  is  that,  Count  ? Do  you  take  me  for  a soul 
so  commonplace  as  not  to  know  how  to  confront  my 
position  ? ” 

“ Sire,  I have  always  seen  that  it  was  in  desperate  po- 
sitions that  suddenly  the  great  turns  of  fortune  have 
taken  place.” 

“ Thank  you,  Count ; it  is  some  comfort  to  meet  with  a 
heart  like  yours,  — that  is  to  say,  sufficiently  trustful  in 
God  and  in  monarchy  never  to  despair  of  a royal  fortune, 
however  low  it  may  be  fallen.  Unfortunately,  my  dear 
count,  your  words  are  like  those  remedies  they  call  ‘ sov- 
ereign,’ and  which,  notwithstanding,  being  only  able  to 
cure  curable  wounds  or  diseases,  fail  against  death. 
Thank  you  for  your  perseverance  in  consoling  me,  Count, 


REMEMBER  ! ” 


153 


thanks  for  your  devoted  remembrance,  but  I know  what 
I have  to  trust  to,  — nothing  will  save  me  now.  And  see, 
my  friend,  I was  so  convinced  that  I was  taking  the  route 
of  exile,  with  my  old  Parry ; I was  returning  to  consume 
my  poignant  griefs  in  the  little  hermitage  offered  me  by 
Holland.  There,  believe  me,  Count,  all  will  soon  be  over, 
and  death  will  come  quickly;  it  is  called  for  so  often  by 
this  body,  which  the  soul  consumes,  and  by  this  soul, 
which  aspires  to  heaven.” 

“ Your  Majesty  has  a mother,  a sister,  and  brothers; 
your  Majesty  is  the  head  of  the  family  ; you  ought,  there- 
fore, to  ask  a long  life  of  God,  instead  of  imploring  him 
for  a prompt  death.  Your  Majesty  is  proscribed,  a fugi- 
tive, but  you  have  right  on  your  side ; you  ought  to  as- 
pire to  combats,  dangers,  business,  and  not  to  the  repose 
of  the  heavens.” 

“ Count,”  said  Charles  II.,  with  a smile  of  indescribable 
sadness,  “ have  you  ever  heard  of  a king  who  re-conquered 
his  kingdom  with  one  servant  of  the  age  of  Parry,  and 
with  three  hundred  crowns  which  that  servant  carries  in 
his  purse  1 ” 

“ No,  Sire;  but  I have  heard  — and  that  more  than 
once  — that  a dethroned  king  has  recovered  his  kingdom 
with  a firm  will,  perseverance,  some  friends,  and  a million 
francs  skilfully  employed.” 

“ But  you  cannot  have  understood  me.  That  million 
I have  asked  of  my  brother  Louis ; he  has  refused  me.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  “ will  your  Majesty  grant  me  a 
few  minutes,  and  listen  attentively  to  wdiat  remains  for 
me  to  say  to  you  ” 

Charles  II.  looked  earnestly  at  Athos.  “ Willingly, 
Monsieur,”  said  he. 

“Then  I will  show  your  Majesty  the  way,”  resumed 
the  count,  directing  his  steps  towards  the  house.  He 


154 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


then  conducted  the  king  to  his  cabinet,  and  begged  him 
to  be  seated.  “ Sire/’  said  he,  “ your  Majesty  just  now 
told  me  that,  in  the  present  state  of  England,  a million 
would  suffice  for  the  recovery  of  your  kingdom.” 

“ To  attempt  it  at  least,  Monsieur ; and  to  die  as  a king 
if  I should  not  succeed.” 

“ Well,  then,  Sire,  let  your  Majesty,  according  to  the 
promise  you  have  made  me,  have  the  goodness  to  listen 
to  what  I have  to  say.”  Charles  made  an  affirmative 
sign  with  his  head.  Athos  walked  straight  up  to  the  door, 
the  bolts  of  which  he  drew,  after  having  looked  to  see  if 
anybody  was  near,  and  then  returned.  “ Sire,”  said  he, 
“your  Majesty  lias  kindly  remembered  that  I lent  assist- 
ance to  the  very  noble  and  very  unfortunate  Charles  I., 
when  his  executioners  conducted  him  from  St.  James’s  to 
Whitehall.” 

“ Yes,  certainly  I do  remember  it,  and  always  shall 
remember  it.” 

“ Sire,  it  is  a dismal  history  for  a son  to  listen  to, 
who  no  doubt  has  had  it  related  to  him  many  times;  and 
yet  I ought  to  repeat  it  to  your  Majesty  without  omitting 
one  detail.” 

“ Speak  on,  Monsieur.” 

“ When  the  king  your  father  ascended  the  scaffold,  or 
rather  when  he  passed  from  his  chamber  to  the  scaffold, 
even  with  his  window,  everything  was  prepared  for  his 
escape.  The  executioner  was  got  out  of  the  way  ; a hole 
was  contrived  under  the  floor  of  his  apartment ; I myself 
was  beneath  the  funereal  structure,  which  I heard  all  at 
once  creak  under  his  feet.” 

“ Parry  has  related  to  me  all  these  terrible  details, 
Monsieur.” 

Athos  bowed,  and  resumed.  “ But  here  is  something 
he  has  not  related  to  you,  Sire,  for  what  follows  passed 


“REMEMBER  ! ” 


155 


between  God,  your  father,  and  myself ; and  never  has  the 
revelation  of  it  been  made  even  to  my  dearest  friends. 
‘ Go  a little  farther  off,’  said  the  august  sufferer  to  the 
masked  executioner;  ‘it  is  but  for  an  instant,  and  I know 
that  I belong  to  you  ; but  remember  not  to  strike  till 
I give  the  signal.  I wish  to  offer  up  my  prayers  in 
freedom.’ ” 

“ Pardon  me,”  said  Charles  II.,  turning  .very  pale,  “ but 
you,  Count,  who  know  so  many  details  of  this  melancholy 
event,  — details  which,  as  you  said  just  now,  have  never 
been  revealed  to  any  one,  — do  you  know  the  name  of 
that  infernal  executioner,  of  that  base  wretch  who  con- 
cealed his  face  that  he  might  assassinate  a king  with 
impunity  ? ” 

Athos  became  slightly  pale.  “ His  name  ? ” said  he ; 
“yes,  I know  it,  but  cannot  tell  it.” 

“ And  what  has  become  of  him,  for  nobody  in  England 
knows  his  fate  ] ” 

“ He  is  dead.” 

“ But  he  did  not  die  in  his  bed ; he  did  not  die  a calm 
and  peaceful  death  ; he  did  not  die  the  death  of  the  good  1 ” 

“ He  died  a violent  death,  in  a terrible  night,  rendered 
so  by  the  passions  of  man  and  a tempest  from  God.  His 
body,  pierced  by  a poniard,  sank  to  the  depths  of  the 
ocean.  God  pardon  his  murderer  ! ” 

“ Proceed  then,”  said  Charles  II.,  seeing  that  the  count 
was  unwilling  to  say  more. 

“ The  King  of  England,  after  having,  as  I have  said, 
spoken  thus  to  the  masked  executioner,  added  : ‘ Ob- 
serve, you  will  not  strike  till  I shall  stretch  out  my  arms, 
saying,  Remember  ! ’ ” 

“ I was  aware,”  said  Charles,  in  an  agitated  voice, 
“that  that  was  the  last  word  pronounced  by  my  unfortu- 
nate father.  But  with  what  aim  '!  for  whom  h ” 


156 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ For  the  French  gentleman  placed  beneath  his  scaf- 
fold.” 

“For  you,  then,  Monsieur.” 

“Yes,  Sire ; and  every  one  of  the  words  which  he  spoke 
to  me,  through  the  planks  of  the  scaffold  covered  with  a 
black  cloth,  still  sounds  in  my  ears.  The  king  knelt  down 
on  one  knee  : 4 Comte  de  la  Fere/  said  he,  4 are  you  there  1 ’ 
4 Yes,  Sire/  replied  I.  Then  the  king  stooped  towards  the 
boards.” 

Charles  II.  also,  palpitating  with  interest,  burning 
with  grief,  stooped  towards  Athos,  to  catch,  one  by  one, 
every  word  that  escaped  from  him.  His  head  touched 
that  of  the  count. 

“Then,”  continued  Athos,  “ the  king  stooped.  6 Comte 
de  la  Fere/  said  he,  ‘it  was  not  possible  for  me  to  be 
saved  by  you ; it  was  not  to  be.  Now,  even  though  I 
commit  a sacrilege,  I must  speak  to  you.  Yes,  I have 
spoken  to  men,  — yes,  I have  spoken  to  God,  and  I speak 
to  you  the  last.  By  supporting  a cause  which  I thought 
sacred,  I have  lost  the  throne  of  my  fathers,  and  diverted 
the  heritage  of  mv  children.’  ” 

Charles  II.  concealed  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  a bitter 
tear  glided  between  his  white  and  slender  fingers. 

“ 4 1 still  have  a million  in  gold/  continued  the  king. 
4 1 buried  it  in  the  vaults  of  the  castle  of  Newcastle,  when 
1 was  leaving  that  city.’” 

Charles  raised  his  head  with  an  expression  of  such 
painful  joy  as  would  have  drawn  tears  from  any  one 
acquainted  with  his  misfortunes.  “ A million  ! ” mur- 
mured he.  44  Oh,  Count ! ” 

44  ‘ You  alone  know  that  this  money  exists ; employ  it 
when  you  think  it  can  be  of  the  greatest  service  to  my 
eldest  son.  And  now,  Comte  de  la  Fere,  bid  me  adieu  ! ’ 

6 Adieu,  adieu,  Sire  ! ’ cried  I.” 


" REMEMBER ! ” 


157 


Charles  arose,  and  went  and  leaned  his  burning  brow 
against  the  window. 

“ It  was  then/5  continued  Athos,  44  the  king  pronounced 
the  word  4 Remember  ! ’ addressed  to  me.  You  see,  Sire, 
that  I have  remembered.” 

The  king  could  not  resist  or  conceal  his  emotion. 
Athos  beheld  the  movement  of  his  shoulders,  which 
undulated  convulsively;  he  heard  the  sobs  which  burst 
from  his  overcharged  breast.  He  was  silent  himself, 
suffocated  by  the  flood  of  bitter  remembrances  he  had 
just  poured  upon  that  royal  head.  Charles  II.,  with  a 
violent  effort,  left  the  window,  repressed  his  tears,  and 
came  and  reseated  himself  by  Athos.  44  Sire,”  said  the 
latter,  44 1 thought  till  to-day  that  the  time  had  not  yet 
arrived  for  the  employment  of  that  last  resource;  but, 
with  my  eyes  fixed  upon  England,  I believed  it  was 
approaching.  To-morrow  I meant  to  go  and  inquire  in 
what  part  of  the  world  your  Majesty  was,  and  then  I 
purposed  going  to  you.  You  come  to  me,  Sire ; that  is 
an  indication  that  God  is  with  us.” 

44  Monsieur,”  said  Charles,  in  a voice  choked  by  emo- 
tion, 44  you  are,  for  me,  what  an  angel  sent  from  heaven 
would  be,  — you  are  a preserver,  sent  to  me  from  the 
tomb  of  my  father  by  himself ; but,  believe  me,  in  ten 
years  civil  wars  have  passed  over  my  country,  striking 
down  men,  tearing  up  the  soil ; it  is  no  more  probable 
that  gold  should  remain  in  the  entrails  of  the  earth,  than 
love  in  the  hearts  of  my  subjects.” 

44  Sire,  the  spot  in  which  his  Majesty  buried  the  million 
is  well  known  to  me ; and  no  one,  I am  sure,  has  been 
able  to  discover  it.  Besides,  is  the  castle  of  Newcastle 
quite  destroyed!  Have  they  demolished  it  stone  by 
stone,  and  uprooted  the  soil  to  the  last  fibre  1 ” 

44  No,  it  is  still  standing ; but  at  this  moment  General 


158 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Monk  occupies  it,  and  is  encamped  there.  The  only  spot 
from  which  I could  look  for  succor,  where  I possess  a 
single  resource,  you  see,  is  invaded  by  my  enemies/ 7 
“ General  Monk,  Sire,  cannot  have  discovered  the 
treasure  I speak  of.” 

“ Yes,  but  can  I go  and  deliver  myself  up  to  Monk 
in  order  to  recover  this  treasure  ? Ah,  Count ! you  see 
plainly  I must  yield  to  destiny,  since  it  strikes  me  to  the 
earth  every  time  I rise.  What  can  I do,  with  Parry  as 
my  only  servant,  — with  Parry,  whom  Monk  has  already 
driven  from  his  presence?  No,  no,  no,  Count,  we  must 
yield  to  this  last  blow.” 

“ But  wThat  your  Majesty  cannot  do,  and  what  Parry 
can  no  more  attempt,  do  you  not  believe  that  I could 
succeed  in  ? ” 

“ You  — you,  Count  — you  would  go  ? ” 

“If  it  pleases  your  Majesty,”  said  Athos,  bowing  to 
the  king,  “yes,  I will  go,  Sire.” 

“ What ! you,  who  are  so  happy  here,  Count?” 

“ I am  never  happy  when  I have  a duty  left  to  accom- 
plish ; and  it  is  an  imperative  duty  which  the  king  your 
father  left  me  to  watch  over  your  fortunes,  and  make 
a royal  use  of  his  money.  So,  if  your  Majesty  honors  me 
with  a sign,  I will  go  with  you.” 

“Ah,  Monsieur!”  said  the  king,  forgetting  all  royal 
etiquette,  and  throwing  his  arms  round  the  neck  of  Athos, 
“you  prove  to  me  that  there  is  a God  in  heaven,  and  that 
this  God  sometimes  sends  messengers  to  the  unfortunate 
who  groan  upon  the  earth.” 

Athos,  exceedingly  moved  by  this  burst  of  feeling  of  the 
young  man,  thanked  him  with  profound  respect,  and  ap- 
proached the  window.  “ Grimaud  ! ” said  he,  “ my  horses.” 
“What,  now — immediately!”  said  the  king.  “Ah, 
Monsieur,  you  are  indeed  a wonderful  man ! ” 


“REMEMBER  ! 


159 


“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  “ I know  of  nothing  more  pressing 
than  your  Majesty’s  service.  Besides,”  added  he,  smiling, 
“ it  is  a habit  contracted  long  since,  in  the  service  of  the 
queen  your  aunt,  and  of  the  king  your  father.  How  is 
it  possible  for  me  to  lose  it  at  the  moment  yo ur  Majesty’s 
service  calls  for  it  1” 

“ What  a man  ! ” murmured  the  king. 

Then,  after  a moment’s  reflection,  — “ But  no,  Count, 
I cannot  expose  you  to  such  privations.  I have  no  means 
of  rewarding  such  services.” 

“ Bah  ! ” said  Athos,  laughing.  “ Your  Majesty  is 
joking ; have  you  not  a million  'l  Ah  ! why  am  I not 
possessed  of  the  half  of  such  a sum  ] I would  already 
have  raised  a regiment.  But,  thank  God ! I have  still 
a few  rouleaux  of  gold  and  some  family  diamonds  left. 
Your  Majesty  will,  I hope,  deign  to  share  with  a devoted 
servant.” 

“ With  a friend  — yes,  Count ; hut  on  condition  that, 
in  his  turn,  that  friend  will  share  with  me  hereafter.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  opening  a casket,  from  which  he 
drew  both  gold  and  jewels,  “you  see,  Sire,  we  are  too 
rich.  Fortunately,  there  are  four  of  us,  in  the  event  of 
meeting  with  thieves.” 

Joy  made  the  blood  rush  to  the  pale  cheeks  of  Charles 
II.,  as  he  saw  Athos’ s two  horses,  led  by  Grimaud,  already 
booted  for  the  journey,  advance  towards  the  peristyle. 

“ Blaisois,  this  letter  for  the  Vieomte  de  Bragelonne. 
To  everybody  else,  I have  gone  to  Paris.  I confide  the 
house  to  you,  Blaisois.”  Blaisois  bowed,  shook  hands 
with  Grimaud,  and  shut  the  gate. 


160 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IN  WHICH  ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR,  AND  ONLY  BAZIN 
FOUND. 

Two  hours  had  scarcely  passed  away  after  the  departure 
of  the  master  of  the  house,  who,  in  Blaisois’  sight,  had 
taken  the  road  to  Paris,  when  a cavalier,  mounted  on 
a good  piebald  horse,  stopped  before  the  gate,  and  with 
a sonorous  “ Holloa ! ” called  the  horse-boys,  who,  with 
the  gardeners,  had  formed  a circle  round  Blaisois,  the 
historian-in-ordinary  to  the  household  of  the  chateau. 
This  “ Holloa  ! ” doubtless  well  known  to  Master  Blaisois, 
made  him  turn  his  head  and  exclaim,  “ M.  d’Artagnan! 
Run  quickly,  you  chaps,  and  open  the  gate.” 

A swarm  of  eight  brisk  lads  flew  to  the  gate,  which  was 
opened  as  if  it  had  been  made  of  feathers ; and  every  one 
loaded  him  with  attentions,  for  they  knew  the  welcome 
this  friend  was  accustomed  to  receive  from  their  master. 
The  eye  of  the  valet  may  always  be  depended  upon  for 
discoveries  of  that  kind. 

“ Ah  ! ” said  M.  d’Artagnan,  with  an  agreeable  smile, 
balancing  himself  upon  his  stirrup  to  jump  to  the  ground, 
“ where  is  my  dear  count  ? ” 

“ Ah  ! how  unfortunate  you  are,  Monsieur  ! 99  said  Blai- 
sois ; “ and  how  unfortunate  will  Monsieur  the  Count,  our 
master,  think  himself  when  he  hears  of  your  coming  ! 
By  bad  luck,  Monsieur  the  Count  left  home  two  hours 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


1G1 


D’Artagnan  did  not  trouble  himself  about  such  trifles. 
“Very  good  ! ” said  he.  “ You  always  speak  the  best 
French  in  the  world ; you  shall  give  me  a lesson  in  gram- 
mar and  correct  language,  while  I await  the  return  of 
your  master.” 

“ That  is  impossible,  Monsieur,”  said  Blaisois ; “ you 
would  have  to  wait  too  long.” 

“Will  he  not  come  back  to-day,  then  % ” 

“No,  nor  to-morrow,  nor  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
Monsieur  the  Count  has  gone  on  a journey.” 

“ A journey  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  surprised  ; “ that’s  a 
fable,  Master  Blaisois.” 

“ Monsieur,  it  is  no  more  than  the  truth.  Monsieur 
has  done  me  the  honor  to  commit  the  house  to  my  charge ; 
and  he  added,  with  his  voice  so  full  of  authority  and 
kindness,  that  is  all  one  to  me  : ‘ You  will  say  I have 
gone  to  Paris.’  ” 

“ Well ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  “ since  he  has  gone  towards 
Paris,  that  is  all  I wanted  to  know  ! you  should  have  told 
me  so  at  first,  booby  ! He  is  then  two  hours  in  advance  1 ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ I shall  soon  overtake  him.  Is  he  alone  ] ” 

“No,  Monsieur.” 

“ Who  is  with  him,  then  ? ” 

“ A gentleman  whom  I don’t  know,  an  old  man,  and 
M.  Grimaud.” 

“ Such  a party  cannot  travel  as  fast  as  I can,  — I will 
start.” 

“Will  Monsieur  listen  to  me  an  instant  h ” said  Blai- 
sois, laying  his  hand  gently  on  the  reins  of  the  horse. 

“Yes,  if  you  don’t  favor  me  with  fine  speeches,  and 
will  make  haste.” 

“Well,  then,  Monsieur,  that  word  c Paris  ? appears  to 
me  to  be  only  a lure.” 

VOL.  i.  — 11 


162 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Oh,  oh  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  seriously;  “ a lure,  eh  % ” 
“ Yes,  Monsieur  ; and  Monsieur  the  Count  is  not  going 
to  Paris,  I will  swear. ” 

“ What  makes  you  think  so  h ” 

“ This : M.  Grimaud  always  knows  where  our  master  is 
going ; and  he  had  promised  me  that  the  first  time  he 
went  to  Paris,  he  would  take  a little  money  for  me  to 
my  wife.” 

“ What ! have  you  a wife,  then  ? ” 

“ I had  one,  — she  was  of  this  country ; but  Monsieur 
found  her  too  garrulous,  and  I sent  her  to  Paris  : it  is 
sometimes  inconvenient,  but  very  agreeable  at  others.” 

“ I understand  ; but  go  on.  You  do  not  believe  the 
count  has  gone  to  Paris  1 ” 

“No,  Monsieur;  for  then  M.  Grimaud  would  have 
broken  his  word,  he  would  have  been  perjured  — and  that 
is  impossible.” 

“That  is  impossible,”  repeated  D’Artagnan,  quite 
in  a study,  because  he  was  quite  convinced.  “ Well, 
my  brave  Blaisois,  many  thanks  to  you.”  Blaisois  bowed. 
“ Come,  you  know  I am  not  curious  — I have  serious 
business  with  your  master.  Could  you  not,  by  a little 
end  of  a word,  — you  who  speak  so  well,  — give  me  to 
understand  — one  syllable  only  — I will  guess  the 
rest  % ” 

“ Upon  my  word,  Monsieur,  I cannot.  I am  quite  ig- 
norant where  Monsieur  the  Count  has  gone.  As  to  listen- 
ing at  doors,  that  is  contrary  to  my  nature  ; and  besides, 
it  is  forbidden  here.” 

“ My  dear  lad,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ this  is  a very  bad 
beginning  for  me.  Never  mind ; you  know  when  Mon- 
sieur the  Count  will  return,  at  least  ] ” 

“ As  little,  Monsieur,  as  the  place  of  his  destination.” 

“ Come,  Blaisois,  come,  search.” 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


163 


“ Monsieur  doubts  my  sincerity  ? Ah,  Monsieur,  that 
grieves  me  sensibly.” 

“ The  devil  take  his  gilded  tongue  ! ” grumbled  D’Ar- 
tagnan.  “ A clown  with  a word  would  be  worth  a dozen 
of  him.  Adieu  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,  I have  the  honor  to  present  you  my  re- 
spect s.” 

“ Cuistre  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ the  fellow  is 
insupportable.”  He  gave  another  look  up  to  the  house, 
turned  his  horse’s  head,  and  set  off  like  a man  who  has 
nothing  either  annoying  or  embarrassing  in  his  mind. 
When  he  was  at  the  end  of  the  wall,  and  out  of  sight,  — 
“Well,  now,  I wonder,”  said  he,  breathing  quickly, 
“ whether  Athos  was  at  home.  No  ; all  those  idlers, 
standing  in  the  court  with  their  arms  crossed,  would 
have  been  at  work  if  the  eye  of  the  master  was  near. 
Athos  gone  a journey  ? — that  is  incomprehensible.  Bah  ! 
it  is  all  devilish  mysterious  ! And  then  — no  — he  is  not 
the  man  I want.  I want  one  of  a cunning,  patient  mind. 
My  business  is  at  Melun,  in  a certain  presbytery  I know. 
Forty-five  leagues,  — four  days  and  a half ! Well,  it  is  fine 
weather,  and  I am  free.  We  will  swallow  the  distance  ! ” 

And  he  put  his  horse  into  a trot,  directing  his  course 
towards  Paris.  On  the  fourth  day  he  alighted  at  Melun, 
as  he  had  intended. 

D’Artagnan  was  never  accustomed  to  ask  anybody  the 
road,  or  for  any  common  information.  For  details  of  that 
kind,  unless  in  very  serious  circumstances,  he  confided  in 
his  perspicacity,  never  at  fault,  in  his  experience  of  thirty 
years,  and  in  a great  habit  of  reading  the  physiognomies 
of  houses  as  well  as  those  of  men.  At  Melun,  D’Ar- 
tagnan directly  found  the  presbytery,  — a charming  house, 
with  coatings  of  plaster  over  red  brick,  with  vines  climb- 
ing along  the  gutters,  and  a cross,  in  sculptured  stone, 


164 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


surmounting  the  ridge  of  the  roof.  From  the  ground- 
floor  of  this  house  escaped  a noise,  or  rather  a confusion 
of  voices,  like  the  chirping  of  young  birds  when  the  brood 
is  just  hatched  under  the  down.  One  of  these  voices  was 
spelling  the  alphabet  distinctly.  A voice,  thick  but  yet 
pleasant,  at  the  same  time  scolded  the  talkers  and  cor- 
rected the  faults  of  the  reader.  D’Artagnan  recognized 
that  voice ; and  as  the  window  of  the  ground -floor  was 
open,  he  leaned  down  from  his  horse  under  the  branches 
and  red  fibres  of  the  vine,  and  cried,  “ Bazin,  my  dear 
Bazin!  good-day  to  you.” 

A short  fat  man,  with  a flat  face,  a cranium  ornamented 
with  a crown  of  gray  hairs,  cut  short,  in  imitation  of  a 
tonsure,  and  covered  with  an  old  black  velvet  cap,  arose 
as  soon  as  he  heard  D’Artagnan,  — we  ought  not  to  say 
arose , but  bounded  up.  In  fact,  Bazin  bounded  up,  draw- 
ing with  him  his  little  low  chair,  which  the  children  tried 
to  take  away,  with  battles  more  fierce  than  those  of  the 
Greeks  endeavoring  to  recover  the  body  of  Patroclus 
from  the  hands  of  the  Trojans.  Bazin  did  more  than 
bound ; he  let  fall  both  his  alphabet  and  his  ferule. 
“ You  ! ” said  he  ; “ you,  Monsieur  d’Artagnan  1 ” 

“ Yes,  myself ! Where  is  Aram  is  — no,  M.  le  Chevalier 
d’Herblay — no,  I am  still  mistaken  — Monsieur  the 
Vicar-General  ? ” 

<k  Ah,  Monsieur/’  said  Bazin,  with  dignity,  “ Mon- 
seigneur is  at  his  diocese.” 

“ What  did  you  say?”  said  D’Artagnan. 

Bazin  repeated  the  sentence. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! but  has  Aramis  a diocese  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.  Why  not  ? ” 

“ Is  he  a bishop,  then?” 

“ Why,  where  can  you  come  from/’  said  Bazin,  rather 
irreverently,  “ that  you  don’t  know  that  ?” 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


165 


“ My  dear  Bazin,  we  pagans,  we  men  of  the  sword, 
know  very  well  when  a man  is  made  a colonel,  or  com- 
mander, or  marshal  of  France  ; but  if  he  be  made  bishop, 
archbishop,  or  pope,  — devil  take  me,  if  the  news  reaches 
us  before  the  three  quarters  of  the  earth  have  had  the 
advantage  of  it ! ” 

“ Hush  ! hush  ! ” said  Bazin,  opening  his  eyes  ; 16  do 
not  spoil  these  poor  children,  in  whom  I am  endeavor- 
ing to  inculcate  good  principles.”  In  fact,  the  children 
had  surrounded  D’Artagnan,  whose  horse,  long  sword, 
spurs,  and  martial  air  they  very  much  admired.  But, 
above  all,  they  admired  his  strong  voice ; so  that,  when 
he  uttered  his  oath,  the  whole  school  cried  out,  “ Devil 
take  me  ! ” with  fearful  bursts  of  laughter,  shouts,  and 
stamping,  which  delighted  the  musketeer  and  bewildered 
the  old  pedagogue. 

ct  There  ! ” said  he,  “ hold  your  tongues,  you  brats  ! 
You  are  come,  M.  d’Artagnan,  and  all  my  good  principles 
fly  away.  With  you,  as  usual,  comes  disorder.  Babet  is 
revived.  Ah  ! good  Lord  ! Ah  ! the  wild  little  wretches  ! ” 
and  the  worthy  Bazin  distributed  right  and  left  blows 
which  redoubled  the  cries  of  his  scholars,  while  changing 
their  significance.  “At  least/’  said  he,  “you  cannot 
debauch  any  one  here.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  1 ” said  D’Artagnan,  with  a smile 
which  made  a shudder  creep  over  the  shoulders  of 
Bazin. 

“He  is  capable  of  it,”  murmured  he. 

“ Where  is  your  master’s  diocese  ? ” 

“ Monseigneur  Rene  is  bishop  of  Vannes.” 

“ Who  caused  him  to  be  nominated  1 ” 

“ Why,  Monsieur  the  superintendent,  our  neighbor.” 

“ What ! M.  Fouquet  1 ” 

“ To  be  sure.” 


166 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Is  Aramis  on  good  terms  with  him,  then?  ” 

“ Monseigneur  preached  every  Sunday  at  the  house  of 
Monsieur  the  superintendent  at  Vaux;  then  they  hunted 
together.” 

“Ah!” 

“And  Monseigneur  composed  his  homilies  — no,  I 
mean  his  sermons  — with  Monsieur  the  superintendent.” 
“ Bah  ! he  preached  in  verse,  then,  this  worthy 
bishop  ? ” 

“Monsieur,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  do  not  jest  with 
sacred  things.” 

“ There,  Bazin,  there  ! So,  then,  Aramis  is  at  Vannes  ? ” 
“At  Vannes,  in  Bretagne.” 

“You  are  a deceitful  old  hunks,  Bazin;  that  is  not 
true.” 

“ See,  Monsieur,  if  you  please  ; the  apartments  of  the 
presbytery  are  empty.” 

“ He  is  right  there,”  said  D’Artagnan,  looking  atten- 
tively at  the  house,  the  aspect  of  which  announced  that 
it  was  unoccupied. 

“ But  Monseigneur  must  have  written  you  an  account 
of  his  promotion.” 

“From  when  does  it  date?” 

“A  month  back.” 

“ Oh  ! then  there  is  no  time  lost.  Aramis  cannot  yet 
have  wanted  me.  But  how  is  it,  Bazin,  you  do  not  follow 
your  master  ? ” 

“Monsieur,  I cannot;  I have  occupations.” 

“Your  alphabet ?” 

“And  my  penitents.” 

“What!  you  confess?  You  are  a priest  ?” 

“ The  same  as  one.  I have  such  a call.” 

“ But  the  orders  ? ” 

“Oh  ! ” said  Bazin,  with  an  air,  “now  that  Monseigneur 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


167 


is  a bishop,  I shall  soon  have  my  orders,  or  at  least  my 
dispensations ; ” and  he  rubbed  his  hands. 

“ Decidedly,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ there  will 
be  no  uprooting  these  people.  Get  me  some  supper, 
Bazin.  ” 

“With  pleasure,  Monsieur.” 

“A  fowl,  a bouillon , and  a bottle  of  wane.” 

“ This  is  Saturday,  Monsieur,  — it  is  a fast-day.” 

“ I have  a dispensation,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

Bazin  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

“ Ah,  ah,  master  hypocrite  ! ” said  the  musketeer,  “ for 
whom  do  you  take  me  ? If  you,  who  are  the  valet,  hope 
for  dispensation  for  committing  a crime,  shall  not  I,  the 
friend  of  your  bishop,  have  dispensation  for  eating  meat 
at  the  call  of  my  stomach?  Make  yourself  agreeable 
with  me,  Bazrn,  or,  by  heaven  ! I will  complain  to  the 
king,  and  you  shall  never  confess.  Now,  you  know  that 
the  nomination  of  bishops  rests  with  the  king,  — I have 
the  king,  I am  the  stronger.” 

Bazin  smiled  hypocritically.  “ Ah,  but  we  — we  have 
Monsieur  the  superintendent,”  said  he. 

“ And  you  laugh  at  the  king,  then?” 

Bazin  made  no  reply  ; his  smile  was  sufficiently 
eloquent. 

“ My  supper,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “ it  is  getting  towards 
seven  o’clock.” 

Bazin  turned  round  and  ordered  the  eldest  of  the  pupils 
to  inform  the  cook.  In  the  mean  time  D’Artagnan  sur- 
veyed the  presbytery. 

“ Pugh  ! ” said  he,  disdainfully,  “ Monseigneur  lodged 
his  grandeur  but  very  meanly  here.” 

“We  have  the  Chateau  de  Vaux,”  said  Bazin. 

“ Which  is  perhaps  equal  to  the  Louvre  ? ” said 
D’Artagnan,  jeeringly. 


168 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Which  is  better,”  replied  Bazin,  with  the  greatest 
coolness  imaginable. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  D’Artagnan. 

He  would  perhaps  have  prolonged  the  discussion,  and 
maintained  the  superiority  of  the  Louvre,  but  the  lieu- 
tenant perceived  that  his  horse  remained  fastened  to  the 
bars  of  a gate. 

“ The  devil  ! ” said  he.  “ Get  my  horse  looked  after  ; 
your  master  the  bishop  has  none  like  him  in  his  stables.” 

Bazin  cast  a sidelong  glance  at  the  horse,  and  replied, 
“ Monsieur  the  superintendent  gave  him  four  from  his 
own  stables ; and  each  of  the  four  is  worth  four  of 
yours.” 

The  blood  mounted  to  the  face  of  D’Artagnan.  His 
hand  itched,  and  he  selected  on  the  head  of  Bazin  the 
place  to  plant  his  fist.  But  that  flash  passed  away  ; re- 
flection came,  and  D’Artagnan  contented  himself  with 
saying : “ The  devil  ! the  devil  ! I have  done  well  to 
quit  the  service  of  the  king.  Tell  me,  worthy  Master 
Bazin,”  added  he,  “ how  many  musketeers  has  Monsieur 
the  superintendent  1 ” 

“ He  could  have  all  there  are  in  the  kingdom  with  his 
money,”  replied  Bazin,  closing  his  book,  and  dismissing 
the  boys  with  noisy  strokes  of  his  ferule. 

“The  devil!  the  devil!”  repeated  D’Artagnan,  once 
more. 

Supper  was  now  announced ; and  he  followed  the  cook, 
who  introduced  him  into  the  refectory,  where  it  awaited 
him.  D’Artagnan  placed  himself  at  table,  and  com- 
menced a hearty  attack  upon  his  fowl. 

“ It  appears  to  me,”  said  D’Artagnan,  biting  with  all  his 
might  at  the  tough  fowl  which  they  had  served  up  to  him, 
and  which  they  had  evidently  forgotten  to  fatten,  — “it 
appears  to  me  that  1 have  done  wrong  in  not  going  to 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


169 


take  service  in  the  suite  of  that  master  yonder.  A pow- 
erful noble  this  intendant,  seemingly  ! In  good  truth, 
we  poor  fellows  know  nothing  at  the  court ; and  the  rays 
of  the  sun  prevent  our  seeing  the  large  stars,  which  are 
suns  also,  at  a little  greater  distance  from  our  earth,  — 
that  is  all.” 

As  D’Artagnan  delighted,  both  from  pleasure  and 
system,  in  making  people  talk  about  things  which  in- 
terested him,  he  fenced  in  his  best  style  with  Master 
Bazin,  but  it  was  pure  loss  of  time ; beyond  the  fatiguing 
and  hyperbolical  praises  of  Monsieur  the  superintendent 
of  the  finances,  Bazin,  who,  on  his  side,  was  on  his 
guard,  afforded  nothing  but  platitudes  to  the  curiosity 
of  D’Artagnan  ; so  that  our  musketeer,  in  a tolerably 
bad  humor,  desired  to  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  he  had  supped. 
D’Artagnan  was  introduced  by  Bazin  into  a mean  cham- 
ber, in  which  there  was  as  poor  a bed;  but  D’Artagnan 
was  not  fastidious  in  that  respect.  He  had  been  told 
that  Aramis  had  taken  away  the  keys  of  his  own  private 
apartment ; and  as  he  knew  Aramis  was  a very  particular 
man,  and  had  generally  many  things  to  conceal  in  his 
apartment,  that  had  not  at  all  astonished  him.  He  had, 
therefore,  — although  it  appeared  comparatively  even 
harder,  — attacked  the  bed  as  bravely  as  he  had  done 
the  fowl ; and  as  he  had  as  good  an  inclination  to  sleep 
as  he  had  had  to  eat,  he  took  scarcely  longer  time  to  fall 
asleep  than  he  had  employed  in  picking  the  last  bones  of 
the  bird. 

Since  .he  was  no  longer  in  the  service  of  any  one, 
D’Artagnan  had  promised  himself  to  indulge  in  sleeping 
as  soundly  as  he  had  formerly  slept  lightly ; but  with 
whatever  good  faith  D’Artagnan  had  made  himself  this 
promise,  and  whatever  desire  he  might  have  to  keep  it 
religiously,  he  was  awakened  in  the  middle  of  the  night 


170 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


by  a loud  noise  of  carriages,  and  servants  on  horseback. 
A sudden  illumination  flashed  over  the  walls  of  his 
chamber ; he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  window 
in  his  shirt. 

“Can  the  king  be  coming  this  way?”  thought  he, 
rubbing  his  eyes  ; “ in  truth,  such  a suite  can  only  be 
attached  to  royalty.” 

“ Yive  Monsieur  le  Surintendant  ! ” cried,  or  rather 
vociferated,  from  a window  on  the  ground-floor,  a voice 
which  he  recognized  as  Bazin’s,  who,  while  so  crying, 
waved  a handkerchief  with  one  hand,  and  held  a large 
candle  in  the  other.  D’Artagnan  then  saw  something 
like  a brilliant  human  form  leaning  out  at  the  window 
of  the  principal  carriage ; at  the  same  time  loud  bursts 
of  laughter,  provoked  no  doubt  by  the  strange  figure  of 
Bazin,  and  which  issued  from  the  same  carriage,  left,  as 
it  were,  a train  of  joy  upon  the  passage  of  the  rapid 
cortege. 

“ I might  easily  see  it  was  not  the  king,”  said  D’Ar- 
tagnan; “people  don’t  laugh  so  heartily  when  the  king 
passes.  Holloa,  Bazin  ! ” cried  he  to  his  neighbor,  who  was 
still  leaning  three  parts  out  of  the  window,  to  follow  the 
carriage  with  his  eyes  as  long  as  he  could.  “ What  is  all 
that  about  ? ” 

“ It  is  M.  Fouquet,”  replied  Bazin,  in  a patronizing 
tone. 

“ And  all  those  people  ? ” 

“ That  is  the  court  of  M.  Fouquet.” 

“ Oh,  oh ! 97  said  D’Artagnan ; “ what  would  M.  de 
Mazarin  say  to  that  if  he  heard  it  ? ” and  he  lay  down 
again,  asking  himself  how  Aram  is  always  contrived  to 
be  protected  by  the  most  powerful  person  in  the  king- 
dom. “ Is  it  that  he  has  more  luck  than  I,  or  that  I am 
a greater  fool  than  he  ? Bah  ! ” That  w7as  the  concluding 


ARAMIS  IS  SOUGHT  FOR. 


171 


word  by  the  aid  of  which  D’Artagnan,  become  wise,  now 
terminated  every  thought  and  every  period  of  his  style. 
Formerly  he  said,  Mordioux ! which  was  a prick  of  the 
spur ; but  now  he  had  become  older,  he  murmured  that 
philosophical  Bah ! which  served  as  a bridle  to  all  the 
passions. 


172 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

IN  WHICH  D’aRTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS,  AND  ONLY 
FINDS  MOUSQUETON. 

When  D’Artagnan  had  perfectly  convinced  himself  that 
the  absence  of  the  Vicaire-General  d’Herblay  was  real,  and 
that  his  friend  was  not  to  be  found  at  Melun  or  in  its 
environs,  he  left  Bazin  without  regret,  gave  an  ill-natured 
glance  at  the  magnificent  Chateau  de  Vaux,  which  was 
beginning  to  shine  with  that  splendor  which  brought  on 
its  ruin,  and,  compressing  his  lips  like  a man  full  of  mis- 
trust and  suspicion,  he  put  spurs  to  his  piebald  horse, 
saying,  “Well,  well!  I have  still  Pierrefonds  left,  and 
there  I shall  find  the  best  man  and  the  best-filled  coffer. 
And  that  is  all  I want,  for  I have  an  idea  of  my  own.” 

We  will  spare  our  readers  the  prosaic  incidents  of 
D’Artagnan’s  journey,  which  terminated  on  the  morning 
of  the  third  day  within  sight  of  Pierrefonds.  D’Artagnan 
came  by  the  way  of  Xanteuil-le-Hardouin  and  Crepy. 
At  a distance  he  perceived  the  Castle  of  Louis  d’Orleans, 
which,  having  become  part  of  the  crown  domain,  was 
kept  by  an  old  concierge.  This  was  one  of  those  mar- 
vellous manors  of  the  middle  ages,  with  walls  twenty 
feet  in  thickness,  and  towers  a hundred  in  height.  D’Ar- 
tagnan  rode  slowly  past  its  walls,  measured  its  towers 
with  his  eyes,  and  descended  into  the  valley.  From  a 
distance  he  looked  down  upon  the  chateau  of  Porthos, 
situated  on  the  shores  of  a large  pond,  and  contiguous 
to  a magnificent  forest.  It  was  the  same  place  we  have 


D’ARTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS. 


173 


already  had  the  honor  of  describing  to  our  readers ; we 
shall  therefore  satisfy  ourselves  with  naming  it.  The 
first  thing  D’Artagnan  perceived  after  the  fine  trees, 
the  sun  of  May  gilding  the  sides  of  the  green  hills,  long 
rows  of  feather- topped  wood  which  stretched  out  towards 
Compiegne,  was  a large  rolling  box,  pushed  forward  by 
two  servants  and  dragged  by  two  others.  In  this  box 
there  was  an  enormous  green- and-gold  thing,  which  moved 
along  the  smiling  glades  of  the  park,  thus  dragged  and 
pushed.  This  thing,  at  a distance,  was  not  to  be  made 
out,  and  signified  absolutely  nothing ; nearer,  it  was  a 
tun  muffled  in  gold-bound  green  cloth;  nearer  still,  it 
was  a man,  or  rather  an  animal,  the  lower  part  of  which, 
extending  itself  in  the  interior  of  the  box,  entirely  filled 
it ; nearer  still,  the  man  was  Mousqueton  — Mousqueton, 
with  gray  hair  and  a face  as  red  as  Punchinello’s. 

“ Pardieu  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan  ; “ why,  that ’s  my  dear 
M.  Mousqueton  ! ” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  the  fat  man,  “ ah  ! what  happiness ! 
what  joy ! There ’s  M.  d’Artagnam  Stop,  you  rascals  ! ” 
These  last  words  were  addressed  to  the  lackeys  who 
pushed  and  dragged  him.  The  box  stopped;  and  the 
four  lackeys,  with  a precision  quite  military,  took  off 
their  laced  hats  and  ranged  themselves  behind  it. 

“ Oh,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” said  Mousqueton  ; “ why  can  I 
not  embrace  your  knees'?  But  I am  become  impotent, 
as  you  see.” 

“Dame!  my  dear  Mousqueton,  it  is  age.” 

“No,  Monsieur,  it  is  not  age  ; it  is  infirmities,  — 
troubles.” 

“ Troubles  ! you,  Mousqueton  *?  ” said  D’Artagnan,  mak- 
ing the  tour  of  the  box ; “ are  you  out  of  your  mind,  my 
dear  friend  *?  Thank  God  ! you  are  as  hearty  as  a three- 
hundred-year-old  oak.” 


174 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


44  Ah  ! but  my  legs,  Monsieur,  — my  legs  ! ” groaned  the 
faithful  servant. 

“ What ’s  the  matter  with  your  legs  ? ” 

44  Oh,  they  will  no  longer  bear  me  ! ” 

44  Ah,  the  ingrates  ! And  yet  you  feed  them  well, 
Mousqueton,  apparently.” 

44  Alas,  yes  ! They  have  nothing  to  reproach  me  with 
in  that  respect,”  said  Mousqueton,  with  a sigh;  “I  have 
always  done  what  I could  for  my  poor  body ; I am  not 
selfish ; ” and  Mousqueton  sighed  afresh. 

44  I wonder  whether  Mousqueton  wants  to  be  a baron 
too,  as  he  sighs  after  that  fashion  ?”  thought  D’Artagnan. 

“ Mon  Dieu , monsieur  ! ” said  Mousqueton,  as  if  rousing 
himself  from  a painful  revery  ; 44  how  happy  Monseigneur 
will  be  that  you  have  thought  of  him  ! ” 

44  Kind  Porthos  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  “ I am  anxious  to 
embrace  him.” 

44  Oh ! ” said  Mousqueton,  much  affected,  44  I will  cer- 
tainly write  to  him.” 

44  How  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  44  you  will  write  to  him  ? ” 
44  This  very  day  ; at  once.” 

44  Is  he  not  here,  then  ? ” 

44  No,  Monsieur.” 

44  But  is  he  near  at  hand  ? Is  he  far  off?  ” 

“ Oh,  can  I tell,  Monsieur,  can  I tell?  ” 

44  Mordioux ! ” cried  the  musketeer,  stamping  with  his 
foot.  44 1 am  the  sport  of  misfortune.  Porthos  such  a 
stay-at-home  ! ” 

44  Monsieur,  there  is  not  a more  sedentary  man  than 
Monseigneur;  but  — ” 

44  But  what  ?” 

44  When  a friend  presses  you  — ” 

44  A friend  ? ” 

44  Doubtless, — the  worthy  M.  d’Herblay.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS. 


175 


“ What  ! has  Ararriis  pressed  Porthos? ” 

“This  is  how  the  thing  happened,  M.  d’Artagnan. 
M.  d’Herblay  wrote  to  Monseigneur  — 99 
“ Indeed ! ” 

“ A letter,  Monsieur,  — such  a pressing  letter  that  it 
threw  us  all  into  a terrible  excitement.” 

“ Tell  me  all  about  it,  my  dear  friend, 99  said  D’Artagnan ; 
“ but  remove  these  people  a little  farther  off  first.” 

Mousqueton  shouted,  “ Fall  back,  you  sirs  ! ” with  such 
powerful  lungs  that  the  breath,  without  the  words,  would 
have  been  sufficient  to  disperse  the  four  lackeys.  D’Ar- 
tagnan seated  himself  on  the  shaft  of  the  box  and  opened 
his  ears.  “ Monsieur,”  said  Mousqueton,  “ Mon  seigneur, 
then,  received  a letter  from  M.  le  Vicaire-General  d’Herblay, 
eight  or  nine  days  ago  ; it  was  the  day  of  the  pleasures  — 
sylvan;  yes,  it  was  therefore  Wednesday.” 

“ What  does  that  mean  ? ” said  D’Artagnan,  — “ the 
day  of  the  sylvan  pleasures'?” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur ; we  have  so  many  pleasures  to  take 
in  this  delightful  country,  that  we  were  encumbered  by 
them,  — so  much  so  that  we  have  been  forced  to  reduce 
them  to  a system.” 

“ How  easily  do  I recognize  Porthos’s  love  of  order  in 
that ! Now,  that  idea  would  never  have  occurred  to  me ; 
but  then  I am  not  encumbered  with  pleasures.” 

“We  were,  though,”  said  Mousqueton. 

“ And  how  did  you  regulate  the  matter  1 Let  me  know,” 
said  D’Artagnan. 

“It  is  rather  long,  Monsieur.” 

“ Never  mind,  we  have  plenty  of  time ; and  you  speak 
so  well,  my  dear  Mousqueton,  that  it  is  really  a pleasure 
to  hear  you.” 

“It  is  true,”  said  Mousqueton,  with  a sigh  of  satisfac- 
tion, which  emanated  evidently  from  the  justice  which 


176 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


had  been  rendered  him,  — “ it  is  true  I have  made  great 
progress  in  the  company  of  Monseigneur.” 

“ I am  waiting  for  the  distribution  of  the  pleasures, 
Mousqueton,  and  with  impatience.  I want  to  know  if  I 
have  arrived  on  a lucky  day.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  d’Artagnan,”  said  Mousqueton  in  a 
melancholy  tone,  “ since  Monseigneur’s  departure  all  the 
pleasures  are  gone  too.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  Mousqueton,  refresh  your  memory.” 

“ With  what  day  shall  I begin  V* 

“ Eh,  pardieu  ! begin  with  Sunday,  that  is  the  Lord’s 
day.” 

“ Sunday,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Sunday  pleasures  are  religious : Monseigneur  goes  to 
Mass,  makes  the  bread-offering,  and  has  discourses  and 
instructions  made  to  him  by  his  almoner-in-ordinary. 
That  is  not  very  amusing ; but  we  expect  a Carmelite  from 
Paris  who  will  do  the  duty  of  our  almonry,  and  who,  we 
are  assured,  speaks  very  well,  — which  will  keep  us  awake, 
whereas  our  present  almoner  always  sends  us  to  sleep. 
These  are  Sunday,  religious  pleasures.  On  Monday 
worldly  pleasures.’ ’ 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ what  do  you  mean  by 
that,  Mousqueton  ? Let  us  have  a glimpse  at  your 
worldly  pleasures.” 

“ Monsieur,  on  Monday  we  go  into  the  world ; we  pay 
and  receive  visits,  we  play  on  the  lute,  we  dance,  we  make 
verses,  and  burn  a little  incense  in  honor  of  the  ladies.” 

“ Peste!  that  is  the  height  of  gallantry,”  said  the  mus- 
keteer, who  was  obliged  to  call  to  his  aid  all  the  strength 
of  his  mastoid  muscles  to  suppress  a great  inclination 
to  laugh. 

“ Tuesday,  pleasures  of  learning.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS. 


177 


“Good!”  cried  D’Artagnan.  “What  are  they?  De- 
tail them,  my  dear  Mousqueton.” 

“Monseigneur  has  bought  a sphere  or  globe,  which  I 
will  show  you ; it  fills  all  the  perimeter  of  the  great 
tower,  except  a gallery  which  he  has  had  built  over  the 
sphere ; there  are  little  strings  and  brass  wires  to  which 
the  sun  and  moon  are  hooked.  It  all  turns  ; and  that  is 
very  beautiful.  Monseigneur  points  out  to  me  seas  and 
distant  countries.  We  don’t  intend  to  visit  them,  but  it 
is  very  interesting.” 

“Interesting!  yes,  that’s  the  word,”  repeated  D’Ar- 
tagnan.  “ And  Wednesday  ? ” 

“ Sylvan  pleasures,  as  I have  had  the  honor  to  tell  you, 
Monsieur  the  Chevalier.  We  look  over  Monseigneur’s 
sheep  and  goats ; we  make  the  shepherds  dance  to  pipes 
and  reeds,  as  is  written  in  a book  Monseigneur  has  in  his 
library,  which  is  called  ‘ Bergeries.’  The  author  died 
about  a month  ago.” 

“ M.  Racan,  perhaps,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ Yes,  that  was  his  name,  — M.  Racan.  But  that  is 
not  all ; we  angle  in  the  little  canal,  after  which  we  dine, 
crowned  with  flowers.  That  is  Wednesday.” 

“ Peste  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  ; “ you  don’t  divide  your 
pleasures  badly.  And  Thursday  ? — what  can  be  left  for 
poor  Thursday  ? ” 

“It  is  not  very  unfortunate,  Monsieur,”  said  Mousque- 
ton,  smiling.  “ Thursday,  Olympic  pleasures.  Ah,  Mon- 
sieur, that  is  superb  ! We  get  together  all  Monseigneur’s 
young  vassals,  and  we  make  them  throw  the  disc,  wrestle, 
and  run  races.  Monseigneur  can’t  run  now,  no  more  can 
I ; but  Monseigneur  throws  the  disc  as  nobody  else  can 
throw  it.  And  when  he  does  deal  a blow  with  his  fist, 
oh,  that  proves  a misfortune  ! ” 

“ How  so  ? ” 

VOL.  i. — 12 


178 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Yes,  Monsieur,  we  were  obliged  to  renounce  the  ces- 
tus.  He  cracked  heads  ; he  broke  jaws,  beat  in  ribs. 
It  was  charming  sport ; but  nobody  was  willing  to  play 
with  him.,, 

“ Then  his  wrist  — ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  more  firm  than  ever.  Monseigneur 
gets  a little  weaker  in  his  legs,  — he  confesses  that 
himself;  but  his  strength  has  all  gone  to  his  arms,  so 
that  — ” 

“So  that  he  can  knock  down  bullocks,  as  of  old.” 

“ Monsieur,  better  than  that,  — he  beats  in  walls. 
Lately,  after  having  supped  with  one  of  our  farmers,  — 
you  know  how  popular  and  kind  Monseigneur  is,  — after 
supper,  as  a joke,  he  struck  the  wall  a blow.  The  wall 
crumbled  away  beneath  his  hand,  the  roof  fell,  and  three 
men  and  an  old  woman  were  stifled.” 

“ Good  God,  Mousqueton  ! And  your  master  1 ” 

“ Oh,  Monseigneur,  his  head  had  a little  skin  rubbed 
off.  We  bathed  the  wounds  with  the  water  which  the 
monks  give  us.  But  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
his  hand.” 

“ Nothing]  ” 

“No,  nothing,  Monsieur.” 

“ Deuce  take  the  Olympic  pleasures  ! They  must  cost 
your  master  too  dear ; for  widows  and  orphans  — 99 

“ They  all  had  pensions,  Monsieur ; a tenth  of  Mon- 
seigneur’s revenue  was  spent  in  that  way.” 

“Then  pass  on  to  Friday,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“Friday,  noble  and  warlike  pleasures.  We  hunt,  we 
fence,  we  dress  falcons  and  break  horses.  Then,  Saturday 
is  the  day  for  intellectual  pleasures : we  furnish  our 
minds ; we  look  at  Monseigneur’s  pictures  and  statues  ; 
we  write,  even,  and  trace  plans ; and  then  we  fire 
Monseigneur’s  cannon.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS. 


179 


“ You  draw  plans,  and  fire  cannon  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Why,  my  friend,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “M.  du  Vallon, 
in  truth,  possesses  the  most  subtle  and  amiable  mind 
that  I know.  But  there  is  one  kind  of  pleasure  you 
have  forgotten,  it  appears  to  me.” 

“What  is  that,  Monsieur'?”  asked  Mousqueton,  with 
anxiety. 

“ The  material  pleasures.” 

Mousqueton  colored.  “ What  do  you  mean  by  that, 
Monsieur?  ” said  he,  casting  down  his  eyes. 

“ I mean  the  table  — good  wine  — evenings  occupied 
in  the  circulation  of  the  bottle.” 

“ Ah,  Monsieur,  we  don’t  reckon  those  pleasures,  — we 
practise  them  every  day.” 

“ My  brave  Mousqueton,”  resumed  D’Artagnan,  “ par- 
don me,  but  I was  so  absorbed  in  your  charming  recital 
that  I have  forgotten  the  principal  object  of  our  con- 
versation, which  was  to  learn  what  M.  le  Vicaire-General 
d’Herblay  could  have  to  write  to  your  master  about?” 
“That  is  true,  Monsieur,”  said  Mousqueton;  “the 
pleasures  have  misled  us.  Well,  Monsieur,  this  is  the 
whole  affair.” 

“I  am  all  attention,  Mousqueton.” 

“ On  Wednesday  — ” 

“ The  day  of  the  sylvan  pleasures  ? ” 

“Yes  — a letter  arrived  ; he  received  it  from  my  hands. 
I had  recognized  the  writing.” 

“ Well  ? ” 

“ Monseigneur  read  it  and  cried  out,  ( Quick  ! my  horses  ! 
my  arms  ! ’ ” 

“ Oh,  good  Lord  ! then  it  was  for  some  duel  ? ” said 
D’Artagnan. 

“No,  Monsieur,  there  were  only  these  words:  ‘Dear 


180 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Porthos,  set  out.  if  you  would  wish  to  arrive  before  the 
Equinox.  I expect  you.’  ” 

“ Mordioux  ! " said  D’Artagnan,  thoughtfully,  “that  is 
pressing,  apparently.” 

“ I think  so  ; therefore,”  continued  Mousqueton,  “ Mon- 
seigneur set  out  the  very  same  day  with  his  secretary,  in 
order  to  endeavor  to  arrive  in  time.” 

“ And  did  he  arrive  in  time  1 ” 

“ I hope  so  ; Monseigneur,  who  is  hasty,  as  you  know, 
Monsieur,  repeated  unceasingly,  ‘ Tonne  Dieu ! What 
can  this  mean  ? The  Equinox  ? Never  mind,  the  fellow 
must  be  well  mounted  if  he  arrives  before  I do.’  ” 

“And  you  think  Porthos  will  have  arrived  first,  do 
you  ? ” asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ I am  sure  of  it.  This  Equinox,  however  rich  he  may 
be,  has  certainly  no  horses  so  good  as  Monseigneur’s.” 

D’Artagnan  repressed  his  inclination  to  laugh,  because 
the  brevity  of  Aramis’s  letter  gave  rise  to  reflection.  He 
followed  Mousqueton,  or  rather  Mousqueton’s  chariot,  to 
the  castle.  He  sat  down  to  a sumptuous  table,  of  which 
they  did  him  the  honors  as  to  a king.  But  he  could  draw 
nothing  from  Mousqueton,  — the  faithful  servant  shed 
tears  at  will,  but  that  was  all. 

D’Artagnan,  after  a night  passed  in  an  excellent  bed, 
reflected  much  upon  the  meaning  of  Aramis’s  letter ; 
puzzled  himself  as  to  the  relation  of  the  Equinox  with  the 
affairs  of  Porthos  ; and  being  unable  to  make  anything 
out,  unless  it  concerned  some  amour  of  the  bishop,  for 
which  it  was  necessary  that  the  days  and  nights  should 
be  equal,  D’Artagnan  left  Pierrefonds  as  he  had  left 
Melun,  as  he  had  left  the  chateau  of  the  Comte  de 
la  Fere.  It  was  not,  however,  without  melancholy, 
which  might  by  good  right  pass  for  one  of  the  dullest 
of  D’Artagnan’s  humors.  His  head  cast  down,  his  eyes 


D’ARTAGNAN  SEEKS  FOR  PORTHOS. 


181 


fixed,  he  suffered  his  legs  to  hang  on  each  side  of  his 
horse,  and  said  to  himself,  in  that  vague  sort  of  reverie 
which  reaches  sometimes  the  sublimest  eloquence,  — 

“ No  more  friends  ! no  more  future  ! no  more  anything  ! 
My  energies  are  broken  like  the  bonds  of  our  ancient 
friendship.  Oh,  old  age  arrives,  cold  and  inexorable ; it 
envelops  in  its  funereal  crape  all  that  was  brilliant,  all 
that  was  of  sweet  odor  in  my  youth  ; then  it  throws  that 
pleasant  burden  on  its  shoulders  and  carries  it  away  with 
the  rest  into  the  fathomless  gulf  of  death.” 

A shudder  crept  through  the  heart  of  the  Gascon,  so 
brave  and  so  strong  against  all  the  misfortunes  of  life ; 
and  for  some  moments  the  clouds  appeared  black  to  him, 
the  earth  slippery  and  full  of  pits  as  that  of  cemeteries. 

“ Whither  am  I going  1 ??  said  he  to  himself.  “ AVhat 
am  I going  to  do  1 Alone,  quite  alone,  — without  family, 
without  friends  ! Bah  ! ” cried  he,  all  at  once.  And  he 
clapped  spurs  to  his  horse,  who,  having  found  nothing 
melancholy  in  the  heavy  oats  of  Pierrefonds,  profited  by 
this  permission  to  show  his  gayety  in  a gallop  which 
covered  two  leagues.  “ To  Paris  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  to 
himself.  And  on  the  morrow  he  alighted  in  Paris.  He 
had  devoted  ten  days  to  this  journey. 


182 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WHAT  D’aRTAGNAN  DID  IN  PARIS. 

The  lieutenant  dismounted  before  a shop  in  the  Rue 
des  Lombards,  at  the  sign  of  the  Pilon  d’Or.  A man  of 
good  appearance,  wearing  a white  apron,  and  stroking  his 
gray  mustache  with  a large  hand,  uttered  a cry  of  joy 
on  perceiving  the  piebald  horse.  “ Monsieur  the  Chev- 
alier ! ” said  he,  “ ah,  is  that  you  ” 

“ Good-day,  Planchet,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  stooping 
to  enter  the  shop. 

“ Quick,  somebody, ” cried  Planchet,  “to  look  after 
M.  d’Artagnan’s  horse,  — somebody  to  get  ready  his 
chamber,  — somebody  to  prepare  his  supper.55 

“Thanks,  Planchet.  Good-day,  my  children,”  said 
D’Artagnan  to  the  eager  boys. 

“ Allow  me  to  send  off  this  coffee,  this  molasses,  and 
these  raisins,”  said  Planchet ; “ they  are  for  the  office  of 
Monsieur  the  superintendent.” 

“ Send  them  off,  send  them  off ! ” 

“ That  is  only  the  affair  of  a moment ; then  we  will  sup.” 

“Order  so  that  we  may  sup  alone,”  said  D’Artagnan; 
“ I want  to  speak  to  you.” 

Planchet  looked  at  his  old  master  in  a significant 
manner. 

“ Oh,  be  at  ease ! it  is  nothing  unpleasant,”  said 
D’Artagnan. 

“ So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better ! ” and 
Planchet  breathed  freely  again,  while  D’Artagnan  seated 


D’ARTAGNAN  IN  PARIS. 


183 


himself  quietly  down  in  the  shop,  upon  a bale  of  corks, 
and  observed  his  surroundings.  The  shop  was  well 
stocked;  there  was  a mingled  perfume  of  ginger,  cinna- 
mon, and  ground  pepper,  which  made  D’Artagnan  sneeze. 
The  shop-boys,  proud  of  being  in  company  with  so  re- 
nowned a soldier,  a lieutenant  of  Musketeers,  who  ap- 
proached the  person  of  the  king,  began  to  work  with  an 
enthusiasm  which  was  something  like  delirium,  and  to 
serve  the  customers  with  a disdainful  precipitation  that 
was  remarked  by  several. 

Planchet  put  away  his  money,  and  made  up  his  ac- 
counts, amidst  civilities  addressed  to  his  old  master. 
Planchet  exercised  towards  his  customers  the  short  speech 
and  the  haughty  familiarity  of  the  rich  shopkeeper  who 
serves  everybody  and  waits  for  nobody.  D’Artagnan  ob- 
served this  difference  with  a pleasure  which  presently  we 
will  analyze.  He  saw  night  come  on  by  degrees ; and  at 
length  Planchet  conducted  him  to  a chamber  on  the  first 
story,  where,  amidst  bales  and  chests,  a table  very  nicely 
set  out  awaited  the  two  guests. 

D’Artagnan  took  advantage  of  a moment’s  pause  to 
examine  the  countenance  of  Planchet,  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  a year  past.  The  shrewd  Planchet  had  acquired 
a slight  protuberance  in  front,  but  his  countenance  was 
not  puffed.  His  keen  eyes  still  played  easily  in  their 
deep-sunk  orbits ; and  fat,  which  levels  all  the  character- 
istic saliences  of  the  human  face,  had  not  yet  touched 
either  his  high  cheek-bones,  the  index  of  cunning  and 
cupidity,  or  his  pointed  chin,  the  index  of  acuteness  and 
perseverance.  Planchet  reigned  with  as  much  majesty 
in  his  dining-room  as  in  his  shop.  He  set  before  his  mas- 
ter a frugal,  but  a perfectly  Parisian  repast,  — roast  meat 
cooked  at  the  baker’s,  with  vegetables,  salad,  and  a des- 
sert borrowed  from  the  shop  itself.  D’Artagnan  was 


184 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


pleased  that  the  grocer  had  drawn  from  behind  the  fag- 
ots a bottle  of  that  Anjou  wine  which,  during  all  his  life, 
had  been  D’Artagnan’s  chosen  wine. 

“ Formerly,  Monsieur,”  said  Planchet,  with  a smile  full 
of  comradeship,  “ it  was  I who  drank  your  wine ; now 
you  do  me  the  honor  to  drink  mine.” 

“ And,  thank  God,  friend  Planchet,  I shall  drink  it  for 
a long  time  to  come,  I hope ; for  at  present  I am 
free.” 

“ Free  ? You  have  leave  of  absence,  Monsieur?  ” 

“ Unlimited.” 

“ You  are  leaving  the  service  ? ” said  Planchet,  stupefied. 
“Yes,  I am  resting.” 

“And  the  king?”  cried  Planchet,  who  could  not  sup- 
pose it  possible  that  the  king  could  do  without  the  services 
of  such  a man  as  D’Artagnan. 

“ The  king  will  try  his  fortune  elsewhere.  But  we 
have  supped  well,  you  are  disposed  to  enjoy  yourself ; 
you  provoke  me  to  repose  confidence  in  you.  Open  your 
ears,  then.” 

“ They  are  open;”  and  Planchet,  with  a laugh  more 
frank  than  cunning,  opened  a bottle  of  white  wine. 
“Leave  me  my  reason,  though.” 

“ Oh,  as  to  you  losing  your  head,  — you,  Monsieur  ! ” 
“Now  my  head  is  my  own,  and  I mean  to  take  better 
care  of  it  than  ever.  In  the  first  place,  we  will  talk  of 
finance.  How  fares  your  money-box  ? ” 

“ Wonderfully  well,  Monsieur.  The  twenty  thousand 
livres  I had  of  you  are  still  employed  in  my  trade,  in 
which  they  bring  me  nine  per  cent.  I give  you  seven,  so 
I gain  two  by  you.” 

“ And  you  are  still  satisfied  ? ” 

“ Delighted.  Have  you  brought  me  any  more  ? ” 
“Better  than  that.  But  do  you  want  any?  ” 


D’ARTAGNAN  IN  PARIS. 


185 


“ Oh  ! not  at  all.  Every  one  is  willing  to  trust  me 
now.  I am  extending  my  business.” 

“ That  was  your  project.” 

“I  play  the  banker  a little.  I buy  goods  of  my  neces- 
sitous brethren ; I lend  money  to  those  who  are  not  ready 
for  their  payments.” 

“ Without  usury  ? ” 

“Oh  ! Monsieur,  in  the  course  of  the  last  week  I have 
had  two  meetings  on  the  boulevards,  on  account  of  the 
word  you  have  just  pronounced.” 

“What?” 

“ You  shall  see : it  concerned  a loan.  The  borrower 
gives  me  in  pledge  some  raw  sugars,  upon  condition  that 
I should  sell  if  repayment  were  not  made  at  a fixed  period. 
I lend  a thousand  livres.  He  does  not  pay  me,  and  I 
sell  the  sugars  for  thirteen  hundred  livres.  He  learns 
this  and  claims  a hundred  crowns.  Ma  foi  ! I refused, 
pretending  that  I could  not  sell  them  for  more  than  nine 
hundred  livres.  He  accused  me  of  usury.  I begged  him 
to  repeat  that  word  to  me  behind  the  boulevards.  He 
was  an  old  guard,  and  he  came ; and  I passed  your  sword 
through  his  left  thigh.” 

“ Tudieu  ! what  a pretty  sort  of  banker  you  make  ! ” 
said  D’Artagnan. 

“ For  above  thirteen  per  cent  I fight,”  replied  Plan- 
chet ; “ that  is  my  character.” 

“Take  only  twelve,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “and  call  the 
rest  premium  and  brokerage.” 

“ You  are  right,  Monsieur  ; but  to  your  business.” 

“ Ah  ! Planchet,  it  is  very  long  and  very  hard  to  speak.” 
“ Speak  it,  nevertheless.”  D’Artagnan  twisted  his  mus- 
tache like  a man  embarrassed  with  the  confidence  he  is 
about  to  repose,  and  mistrustful  of  his  confidant. 

“ Is  it  an  investment  ? ” asked  Planchet. 


186 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Why,  yes.” 

“ At  good  profit  % ” 

“ A capital  profit,  — four  hundred  per  cent,  Planchet.” 
Planchet  gave  such  a blow  with  his  fist  upon  the  table 
that  the  bottles  bounded  as  if  they  had  been  frightened. 

“ Good  heavens  ! is  that  possible  ] ” 

“ I think  it  will  be  more,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  coolly  ; 
“ but  I like  to  lay  it  at  the  lowest.” 

“ The  devil ! ” said  Planchet,  drawing  nearer.  “ Why, 
Monsieur,  that  is  magnificent ! Can  one  place  much 
money  in  it  ] ” 

“ Twenty  thousand  livres  each,  Planchet.” 

“ Why,  that  is  all  you  have,  Monsieur.  For  how  long  a 
time  ] ” 

“ For  a month.” 

“ And  that  will  give  us — ” 

“ Fifty  thousand  livres  each,  profit.” 

“ It  is  monstrous  ! It  is  worth  while  to  fight  for  such 
interest  as  that.” 

“ In  fact,  I believe  it  will  be  necessary  to  fight  not  a 
little,”  said  D’Artagnan,  with  the  same  tranquillity ; “but 
this  time  there  are  two  of  us,  Planchet,  and  I will  take  all 
the  blows  to  myself.” 

“Oh,  Monsieur,  I will  not  allow  that.” 

“ Planchet,  you  cannot  be  concerned  in  it ; you  would 
be  obliged  to  leave  your  business  and  your  family.” 

“ The  affair  is  not  in  Paris,  then.” 

“ No.” 

“ Ah  ! abroad  ] ” 

“In  England.” 

“A  speculative  country,  that  is  true,”  said  Planchet, — 
“a  country  I am  well  acquainted  with.  What  sort  of  an 
affair,  Monsieur,  — without  too  much  curiosity]” 

“ Planchet,  it  is  a restoration.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  IN  PARIS. 


187 


“ Of  monuments  % ” 

“ Yes,  of  monuments  ; we  will  restore  Whitehall.” 

“ That  is  important.  And  in  a month,  you  think  ? ” 

“ I will  undertake  it.* 9 

“ That  concerns  you,  Monsieur ; and  when  once  you  are 
engaged  — ” 

“ Yes,  that  concerns  me.  I know  what  I am  about ; 
nevertheless,  I will  freely  consult  with  you.” 

“ You  do  me  great  honor ; but  I know  very  little  about 
architecture.” 

“ Planchet,  you  are  wrong ; you  are  an  excellent  archi- 
tect,— quite  as  good  as  I am,  for  the  case  in  question.” 

“ Thanks  — ” 

“ I have  been,  I confess,  tempted  to  name  the  thing  to 
those  gentlemen  we  know  of,  but  they  are  all  absent  from 
their  houses.  It  is  vexatious,  for  I know  none  more  bold 
or  more  able.” 

“ Ah ! then  it  appears  there  will  be  an  opposition,  and 
the  enterprise  will  be  disputed  1 ” 

“ Oh  yes,  Planchet,  yes.” 

“I  burn  to  know  the  details,  Monsieur.” 

“ They  are  these,  Planchet.  Close  all  the  doors 
firmly.” 

“ Yes,  monsieur ; ” and  Planchet  double-locked  them. 
“That  is  well;  now  draw  near.”  Planchet  obeyed. 
“ And  open  the  window,  because  the  noise  of  the  passers- 
by  and  the  carts  will  deafen  all  who  might  hear  us.” 
Planchet  opened  the  window  as  desired,  and  the  puff  of 
tumult  which  filled  the  chamber  with  cries,  wheels,  bark- 
ings, and  steps  deafened  D’Artagnan  himself,  as  he  had 
wished.  He  then  swallowed  a glass  of  white  wine,  and 
began  in  these  terms  : “ Planchet,  I have  an  idea.” 

“Ah  ! Monsieur,  I recognize  you  so  well  in  that ! ” re- 
plied Planchet,  panting  with  emotion. 


188 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

OF  THE  SOCIETY  WHICH  WAS  FORMED  IN  THE  RUE  DES  LOM- 
BARDS, AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  PILON  D?OR,  TO  CARRY 
OUT  THE  IDEA  OF  M.  d’aRTAGNAN. 

After  an  instant  of  silence,  in  which  D’Artagnan  ap- 
peared to  be  collecting,  not  one  idea,  but  all  his  ideas  — 
“It  cannot  be,  my  dear  Planchet,”  said  he,  “that  you 
have  not  heard  mention  of  his  Majesty  Charles  I.,  King  of 
England » ” 

“Alas  ! yes,  Monsieur,  since  you  left  France  in  order  to 
carry  him  assistance,  and  since,  in  spite  of  that  assistance, 
he  fell,  and  was  near  dragging  you  down  in  his  fall.?? 

“ Exactly  so ; I see  you  have  a good  memory,  Planchet.” 
“ Peste  ! Monsieur,  the  astonishing  thing  would  be,  if  I 
could  have  lost  that  memory,  however  bad  it  might  have 
been.  When  one  has  heard  Grimaud,  who,  you  know,  is 
not  given  to  talking,  relate  how  the  head  of  King  Charles 
fell,  how  you  sailed  the  half  of  a night  in  a scuttled  vessel, 
and  saw  rise  upon  the  surface  of  the  water  that  good  M. 
Mordaunt  with  a certain  gold-hafted  poniard  sticking  in 
his  breast,  one  is  not  very  likely  to  forget  such  things.” 

“ And  yet  there  are  people  who  forget  them,  Planchet.” 
“Yes;  such  as  have  not  seen  them,  or  have  not  heard 
Grimaud  relate  them.” 

“ Well,  it  is  all  the  better  that  you  recollect  all  that ; I 
shall  only  have  to  remind  you  of  one  thing,  and  that  is, 
that  Charles  I.  had  a son.” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEA. 


189 


“ Without  contradicting  you,  Monsieur,  he  had  two,” 
said  Planchet ; “ for  I saw  the  second  in  Paris,  Monsieur 
the  Duke  of  York,  one  day,  as  he  was  going  to  the  Palais 
Royal,  and  I was  told  that  he  was  only  the  second  son  of 
Charles  I.  As  to  the  eldest,  I have  the  honor  of  knowing 
him  by  name,  but  not  personally.” 

" That  is  exactly  the  point,  Planchet,  we  must  come  to, 

— to  this  eldest  son,  formerly  called  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  who  is  now  styled  Charles  II.,  King  of  England.” 

“ A king  without  a kingdom,  Monsieur,”  replied  Plan- 
chet, sententiously. 

“ Yes,  Planchet ; and  you  may  add  an  unfortunate 
prince,  more  unfortunate  than  a man  of  the  dregs  of  the 
people  in  the  worst  quarter  of  Paris.” 

Planchet  made  a gesture  full  of  that  easy  compassion 
which  we  grant  to  strangers  with  whom  we  think  we  can 
never  possibly  find  ourselves  in  contact.  Besides,  he  did 
not  see  in  these  politico-sentimental  utterances  any  sign 
of  the  commercial  idea  of  M.  D’Artagnan,  and  it  was  in 
this  that  he  was  principally  interested.  D’Artagnan, 
who  was,  by  habit,  pretty  well  acquainted  with  men  and 
things,  understood  Planchet. 

“I  am  coming  to  our  business,”  said  he.  “This  young 
Prince  of  Wales  — a king  without  a kingdom,  as  you 
have  so  well  said,  Planchet  — has  interested  me,  — me, 
D’Artagnan.  I have  seen  him  begging  assistance  of 
Mazarin,  who  is  a dirty  pedant,  and  the  aid  of  Louis, 
who  is  a child;  and  it  appeared  to  me,  who  am  ac- 
quainted with  such  things,  that  in  the  intelligent  eye 
of  the  fallen  king,  in  the  nobleness  of  his  whole  person, 

— a nobleness  apparent  above  all  his  miseries,  — I could 
discern  the  stuff  of  a man  and  the  heart  of  a king.” 

Planchet  tacitly  approved  of  all  this ; but  it  did  not 
at  all,  in  his  eyes  at  least,  throw  any  light  upon  D’Ar- 


190 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


tagnan’s  idea.  The  latter  continued  : “ This,  then,  is  the 
reasoning  which  I made  with  myself.  Listen  attentively, 
Planchet,  for  we  are  coming  to  the  conclusion.” 

“I  am  listening.” 

“ Kings  are  not  so  thickly  sown  upon  the  earth  that 
people  can  find  them  whenever  they  want  them.  Now, 
this  king  without  a kingdom  is,  in  my  opinion,  a grain 
of  seed  which  will  blossom  in  some  season  or  other,  pro  - 
vided a skilful,  discreet,  and  vigorous  hand  sow  it  duly 
and  truly,  selecting  soil,  sky,  and  time.” 

Planchet  still  approved  by  a nod  of  his  head,  which 
showed  that  he  did  not  perfectly  comprehend  all  that 
was  said. 

“ ‘ Poor  little  seed  of  a king  ! ’ said  I to  myself ; “ and 
really  I was  affected,  Planchet,  which  leads  me  to  think 
I am  entering  upon  a foolish  business.  And  that  is  why 
I wished  to  consult  you,  my  friend.” 

Planchet  colored  with  pleasure  and  pride. 

“ ‘ Poor  little  seed  of  a king  ! I will  pick  you  up  and 
cast  you  into  good  ground.’  ” 

“ Good  God  ! ” said  Planchet,  looking  earnestly  at  his 
old  master,  as  if  in  doubt  of  the  state  of  his  reason. 

“Well,  what  is  it'?”  said  D’Artagnan;  “ what  hurts 
you  ? ” 

“ Me  ! nothing,  Monsieur.” 

“You  said  ‘ Good  God!”’ 

“ Did  I ? ” 

“ I am  sure  you  did.  Can  you  already  understand  ? ” 

“ I confess,  M.  d’Artagnan,  that  I am  afraid  — ” 

“ To  understand  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ To  understand  that  I wish  to  replace  upon  his  throne 
this  King  Charles  II.,  who  has  no  throne?  Is  that  it?” 
Planchet  made  a prodigious  bound  in  his  chair.  “ Ah, 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEA. 


191 


ah  ! ” said  he,  in  evident  terror,  “ that  is  what  you  call 
a restoration  ! ” 

“ Yes,  Planchet ; is  not  that  the  proper  term  for  it  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  doubt,  — no  doubt!  But  have  you  reflected 
seriously  ? ” 

“ Upon  what?” 

“ Upon  what  is  going  on  yonder/’ 

“ Where  ? ” 

“ In  England.” 

“ And  what  is  that  ? Let  us  see,  Planchet.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  Monsieur,  I ask  your  pardon  for 
meddling  in  these  things  which  have  nothing  to  do  with 
my  trade ; but  since  it  is  an  affair  that  you  propose  to 
me,  — for  you  propose  an  affair  to  me,  do  you  not  ? — ” 

“ A superb  one,  Planchet.” 

“ But  as  you  propose  to  me  an  affair,  I have  the  right 
to  discuss  it.” 

“ Discuss  it,  Planchet ; out  of  discussion  light  is  born.” 
“ Well,  then,  since  I have  Monsieur’s  permission,  I 
will  tell  him  that  there  is  yonder,  in  the  first  place,  the 
Parliament.” 

“ Well,  next  ? ” 

“ And  then  the  army.” 

“ Good  ! Do  you  see  anything  else  ? ” 

“ And  then  the  nation.” 

“ Is  that  all?  ” 

“ The  nation,  which  consented  to  the  overthrow  and 
death  of  the  late  king,  the  father  of  this,  and  which  will 
not  be  willing  to  belie  its  acts.” 

“ Planchet,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ you  reason  like  a 
cheese ! The  nation  — the  nation  is  tired  of  these  gen- 
tlemen who  give  themselves  barbarous  names  and  sing 
psalms  to  it.  Chant  for  chant,  my  dear  Planchet ; 
I have  remarked  that  nations  prefer  singing  a merry 


192 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


chant  to  the  plain  chant.  Remember  the  Fronde ; what 
did  they  sing  in  those  times'?  Well,  those  were  good 
times.” 

“Not  too  good, — not  too  good!  I was  near  being 
hung  in  those  times.” 

“ Well,  but  you  were  not  ] ” 

“No.” 

“ And  you  laid  the  foundation  of  your  fortune  in  the 
midst  of  all  those  songs  1 ” 

“ That  is  true.’ 

“You  have  nothing  to  say  against  them,  then!  ” 

“ Well,  I return,  then,  to  the  army  and  the  Parliament.” 
“ I say  that  I borrow  twenty  thousand  livres  of  M. 
Planchet,  and  that  I put  twenty  thousand  livres  of  my 
own  to  it,  and  with  these  forty  thousand  livres  I raise 
an  army.” 

Planchet  clasped  his  hands ; he  saw  that  D’Artagnan 
was  in  earnest,  and,  in  good  truth,  he  believed  that  his 
master  had  lost  his  senses. 

“An  army!  — ah,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  with  his  most 
agreeable  smile,  for  fear  of  irritating  the  madman  and 
rendering  him  furious,  “ an  army  ! — large  1 ” 

“ Of  forty  men,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“Forty  against  forty  thousand  ! that  is  not  enough. 
I know  very  well  that  you,  M.  d’Artagnan,  alone  are 
equal  to  a thousand  men;  but  where  are  we  to  find 
thirty-nine  men  equal  to  you  ? Or,  if  we  could  find  them, 
who  would  furnish  you  with  money  to  pay  them  *?  ” 

“Not  bad,  Planchet.  Ah,  the  devil!  you  play  the 
courtier.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  I speak  what  I think ; and  that  is  ex- 
actly why  I say  that  in  the  first  pitched  battle  you  fight 
with  your  forty  men  I am  very  much  afraid  — ” 

“ Therefore  I will  fight  no  pitched  battles,  my  dear 


d’artagnan’s  idea. 


193 


Planchet,”  said  the  Gascon,  laughing.  “We  have  very 
fine  examples  in  antiquity  of  skilful  retreats  and  marches, 
which  consisted  in  avoiding  the  enemy  instead  of  attack- 
ing them.  You  should  know  that,  Planchet,  who  com- 
manded the  Parisians  the  day  on  which  they  ought  to 
have  fought  against  the  Musketeers,  and  who  so  well 
calculated  marches  and  countermarches,  that  you  never 
left  the  Palais-Royal.” 

Planchet  could  not  forbear  laughing.  “ It  is  plain,” 
replied  he,  “ that  if  your  forty  men  conceal  themselves, 
and  are  not  unskilful,  they  may  hope  not  to  be  beaten ; 
but  you  propose  to  yourself  some  result,  do  you  not  h ” 

“ No  doubt.  This  then,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  plan  to 
be  proceeded  upon  in  order  to  replace  quickly  his  Majesty 
Charles  II.  on  his  throne.” 

“ Good  !”  said  Planchet,  redoubling  his  attention  ; “let 
us  see  your  plan.  But,  in  the  first  place,  it  appears  to 
me  we  are  forgetting  something.” 

“ What  is  that  % ” 

“ We  have  set  aside  the  nation,  which  prefers  singing 
merry  songs  to  psalms,  and  the  army,  which  we  will 
not  fight ) but  the  Parliament  remains,  and  that  seldom 
sings.” 

“And  it  does  not  fight,  either.  How  is  it,  Planchet, 
that  an  intelligent  man  like  you  should  take  any  heed  of 
a set  of  brawlers  who  call  themselves  Rumps  and  Bare- 
bones?  The  Parliament  does  not  trouble  me  at  all, 
Planchet.” 

“ Since  it  does  not  trouble  you,  Monsieur,  let  us  pass 
on.” 

“ Yes,  and  arrive  at  the  result.  You  remember  Cronv 
well,  Planchet  ? ” 

“ I have  heard  a great  deal  of  talk  about  him.” 

u He  was  a rough  soldier.” 

VOL.  I.  — 1 3 


194 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ And  a terrible  eater,  moreover.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ” 

“ Why,  at  one  gulp,  he  swallowed  all  England.” 

“ Well,  Planchet,  the  evening  before  the  day  on  which 
he  swallowed  England,  if  any  one  had  swallowed 
Cromwell  1 ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  that  is  one  of  the  first  axioms  of  math- 
ematics, that  the  container  must  be  greater  than  the 
contained.” 

“Very  well ! You  see  our  affair,  Planchet.” 

“ But  Cromwell  is  dead,  and  his  container  is  now  the 
tomb.” 

“ My  dear  Planchet,  I see  with  pleasure  that  you  have 
not  only  become  a mathematician,  but  a philosopher.” 

“ Monsieur,  in  my  grocery  business  I use  much  printed 
paper,  and  that  instructs  me.” 

“Bravo  ! You  know,  then,  in  that  case — for  you  have 
not  learnt  mathematics  and  philosophy  without  a little 
history  — that  after  this  Cromwell  so  great,  there  came 
one  who  was  very  little.” 

“ Yes ; he  was  named  Richard,  and  he  has  done  as  you 
have,  M.  d’Artagnan,  — he  has  given  in  his  resignation.” 
“ Very  well  said,  — very  wTell  ! After  the  great  man 
who  is  dead,  after  the  little  one  who  gave  in  his  resigna- 
tion, there  has  come  a third.  This  one  is  named  Monk. 
He  is  an  able  general,  considering  that  he  has  never  fought 
a battle ; he  is  a skilful  diplomatist,  considering  that  he 
never  speaks  in  public,  and  that,  having  to  say  6 Good- 
day  ’ to  a man,  he  meditates  twelve  hours,  and  ends  by 
saying  ‘ Good-night,’  — which  makes  people  exclaim, 
* Miracle  ! ’ seeing  that  it  falls  out  correctly.” 

“ That  is  rather  strong,”  said  Planchet ; “ but  I know 
another  polite  man  who  resembles  him  very  much.” 

“ Mazarin,  you  mean  ? ” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEA. 


195 


“ Himself.” 

“ You  are  right,  Planchet ; only,  Mazarin  does  not 
aspire  to  the  throne  of  France,  and  that  changes  every- 
thing, you  see.  Well,  this  Monk,  who  has  England 
ready -roasted  in  his  plate,  and  who  is  already  opening  his 
mouth  to  swallow  it,  — this  Monk,  who  says  to  the  peo- 
ple of  Charles  II.,  and  to  Charles  II.  himself,  ‘ Nescio 
vos  9 — ” 

“ I don’t  understand  English,”  said  Planchet. 

“ Yes,  but  I understand  it,”  said  D’Artagnan.  “ 6 Nescio 
vos 9 means  CI  do  not  know  you.’  This  Monk,  the  most 
important  man  in  England,  when  he  shall  have  swallowed 
it—” 

“ Well  h ” asked  Planchet. 

“Well,  my  friend,  I will  go  over  yonder,  and  with  my 
forty  men  I will  carry  him  off,  pack  him  up,  and  bring 
him  into  France,  where  two  modes  of  proceeding  present 
themselves  to  my  dazzled  eyes.” 

“ Oh  ! and  to  mine  too,”  cried  Planchet,  transported 
with  enthusiasm.  “ We  will  put  him  in  a cage  and  show 
him  for  money.” 

“ Well,  Planchet,  that  is  a third  plan  of  wThich  I had 
not  thought,  and  which  you  have  discovered,  — you 
yourself.” 

“ Do  you  think  it  a good  one  h ” 

“ Yes,  certainly  ; but  I think  mine  better.” 

“ Let  us  see  yours,  then.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  I will  set  a ransom  on  him.” 

“ Of  how  much  1 ” 

“ Peste!  a fellow  like  that  must  be  well  worth  a hundred 
thousand  crowns.” 

“ Yes,  yes  ! ” 

“ You  see,  then,  — in  the  first  place,  a ransom  of  a 
hundred  thousand  crowns.” 


1 96 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Or  else  — ” 

“ Or  else  — which  is  much  better  — I deliver  him  up  to 
King  Charles,  who,  having  no  longer  either  a general  or  an 
army  to  fear,  nor  a diplomatist  to  trick  him,  will  restore 
himself,  and  when  once  restored  will  pay  down  to  me  the 
hundred  thousand  crowns  in  question.  That  is  the  idea 
I have  formed  ; what  do  you  say  to  it,  Planchet  1 ” 

“ Magnificent,  Monsieur  ! ” cried  Planchet,  trembling 
with  emotion.  “ How  did  you  conceive  that  ideal  ” 

“ It  came  to  me  one  morning  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire, 
while  our  beloved  king  Louis  XIY.  was  snivelling  over 
the  hand  of  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini.” 

“ Monsieur,  I declare  the  idea  is  sublime.  But  — ” 

“ Ah  ! there  is  a but  ? ” 

“ Permit  me  ! But  this  is  a little  like  the  skin  of  that 
fine  bear,  you  know,  that  they  were  about  to  sell,  but 
which  it  was  necessary  to  take  from  the  back  of  the  bear, 
who  was  still  alive.  Now,  to  take  Monk,  there  will  be 
a bit  of  a scuffle,  I should  think.” 

“ No  doubt ; but  as  I shall  raise  an  army  — ” 

“ Yes,  yes,  — I understand,  parbleu  ! — an  exploit.  Yes, 
then,  Monsieur,  you  will  triumph,  for  no  one  equals  you 
in  that  sort  of  adventure.” 

“ I certainly  am  lucky  in  them,”  said  D’Artagnan,  with 
a proud  simplicity.  “ You  know  that  if  for  this  affair  I 
had  my  dear  Athos,  my  brave  Porthos,  and  my  cunning 
Aramis,  the  business  would  be  settled ; but  they  are  all 
lost,  as  it  appears,  and  nobody  knows  where  to  find  them. 
I will  do  it,  then,  alone.  Now,  do  you  find  the  business 
good,  and  the  investment  advantageous  ? ” 

“ Too  much,  — too  much.” 

“ How  can  that  be  V7 

“ Because  fine  things  never  reach  the  point  expected.” 
“ This  is  infallible,  Planchet,  and  the  proof  is  that  I 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEA. 


197 


undertake  it.  It  will  be  for  you  a tolerably  pretty  gain, 
and  for  me  a very  interesting  stroke.  It  will  be  said, 

‘ Such  was  the  old  age  of  M.  d’Artagnan ; ’ and  I shall  hold 
a place  in  stories,  and  even  in  history  itself,  Planchet.  I 
am  greedy  of  honor.” 

“ Monsieur,”  cried  Planchet,  “ when  I think  that  it  is 
here,  in  my  home,  in  the  midst  of  my  sugar,  my  prunes, 
and  my  cinnamon,  that  this  gigantic  project  is  ripened,  my 
shop  seems  a palace  to  me.” 

“ Beware,  beware,  Planchet  ! If  the  least  report  of  this 
escapes,  there  is  the  Bastille  for  both  of  us.  Beware,  my 
friend  ; for  this  is  a plot  we  are  hatching.  Monk  is  the 
ally  of  Mazarin,  — beware  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,  when  a man  has  had  the  honor  to  belong  to 
you,  he  knows  nothing  of  fear ; and  when  he  has  the 
advantage  of  being  bound  up  in  interests  with  you,  he 
holds  his  tongue.” 

“ Very  well ; that  is  more  your  affair  than  mine,  seeing 
that  in  a week  I shall  be  in  England.” 

“ Begone,  begone,  Monsieur,  — the  sooner  the  better.” 
“ Is  the  money  then  ready  1 ” 

“ It  will  be  to-morrow ; to-morrow  you  shall  receive  it 
from  my  own  hands.  Will  you  have  gold  or  silver  ? ” 

“ Gold ; that  is  most  convenient.  But  how  are  w7e 
going  to  arrange  this'?  Let  us  see.” 

“ Oh,  good  Lord  ! in  the  simplest  way  possible.  You 
shall  give  me  a receipt ; that  is  all.” 

“ No,  no,”  said  D’Artagnan,  warmly;  “we  must  pre- 
serve order  in  all  things.” 

“ That  is  likewise  my  opinion ; but  with  you,  M. 
d’Artagnan  — ” 

“ And  if  I should  die  yonder  — if  I am  killed  by  a 
musket-ball  — if  I should  burst  with  drinking  beer  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  I beg  you  to  believe  that  in  that  case  I 


198 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


should  be  so  much  afflicted  at  your  death,  that  I should 
think  nothing  about  the  money. ” 

“ Thank  you,  Planchet;  but  that  will  not  do.  We 
will,  like  two  lawyers’  clerks,  draw  up  together  an 
agreement,  a sort  of  act,  which  may  be  called  a deed 
of  partnership.” 

“ Willingly,  Monsieur.” 

“ I know  it  is  difficult  to  draw  such  a thing  up,  but  we 
will  try.” 

“ Let  us  try,  then  ; ” and  Planchet  went  in  search  of 
a pen,  ink,  and  paper.  D’Artagnan  took  the  pen,  dipped 
it  in  the  ink,  and  wrote  : — 

“ Between  Messire  d’Artagnan,  ex-lieutenant  of  the 
king’s  Musketeers,  at  present  residing  in  the  Eue  Tique- 
tonne,  Hotel  de  la  Chevrette,  and  the  Sieur  Planchet, 
grocer,  residing  in  the  Eue  des  Lombards,  at  the  sign  of 
the  Pilon  d’Or,  it  has  been  agreed  as  follows  : A partner- 
ship, with  a capital  of  forty  thousand  livres,  is  formed  for 
the  purpose  of  carrying  out  an  idea  conceived  by  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan.  The  Sieur  Planchet,  who  is  acquainted  with  this 
idea  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  and  who  approves  of  it  in  all 
points,  will  place  twenty  thousand  livres  in  the  hands 
of  M.  d’Artagnan.  He  will  require  neither  repayment 
nor  interest  before  the  return  of  M.  d’Artagnan  from  a 
voyage  he  is  about  to  make  into  England.  On  his  part, 
M.  d’Artagnan  undertakes  to  find  twenty  thousand  livres, 
which  he  will  join  to  the  twenty  thousand  already  laid 
down  by  the  Sieur  Planchet.  He  will  employ  the  said 
sum  of  forty  thousand  livres  as  shall  seem  to  him  good, 
but  still  in  an  undertaking  which  is  described  below.  On 
the  day  in  which  M.  d’Artagnan  shall  have  re-established, 
by  whatever  means,  his  Majesty  King  Charles  II.  upon 
the  throne  of  England,  he  will  pay  into  the  hands  of  M. 
Planchet  the  sum  of — ” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEA. 


199 


“The  sum  of  a hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres,” 
said  Planchet,  innocently,  perceiving  that  D’Artagnan 
hesitated. 

“ Oh,  the  devil,  no ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ the  division 
cannot  be  made  by  half;  that  would  not  be  just.” 

“ And  yet,  Monsieur,  we  each  lay  down  half,”  objected 
Planchet,  timidly. 

“ Yes  ; but  listen  to  this  clause,  my  dear  Planchet,  and 
if  you  do  not  find  it  equitable  in  every  respect  when  it 
is  written,  well,  we  can  scratch  it  out  again : — 

“ ‘ Nevertheless,  as  M.  dArtagnan  brings  to  the  associ- 
ation, besides  his  capital  of  twenty  thousand  livres,  his 
time,  his  idea,  his  industry,  and  his  skin,  — things  which 
he  appreciates  strongly,  particularly  the  last,  — M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  will  keep,  of  the  three  hundred  thousand  livres, 
two  hundred  thousand  livres  for  himself,  which  will  make 
his  share  two  thirds.’  ” 

“Very  well,”  said  Planchet. 

“Is  it  just ? ” asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ Perfectly  just,  Monsieur.” 

“ And  you  will  be  contented  with  a hundred  thousand 
livres  % ” 

“ Peste ! I think  so.  A hundred  thousand  for  twenty 
thousand ! ” 

“ And  in  a month,  understand.” 

“ How,  in  a month  % ” 

“ Yes,  I only  ask  one  month.” 

“Monsieur,”  said  Planchet,  generously,  “I  will  give 
you  six  weeks.” 

“Thank  you,”  replied  the  musketeer,  civilly;  after 
which  the  two  partners  re-perused  their  deed. 

“ That  is  perfect,  Monsieur,”  said  Planchet ; “ and  the 
late  M.  Coquenard,  the  first  husband  of  Madame  la 
Baronne  du  Yallon,  could  not  have  done  it  better.” 


200 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Do  you  find  it  so  ? Let  us  sign  it,  then ; ” and  both 
affixed  their  signatures. 

“In  this  fashion/’  said  D’Artagnan,  “I  shall  Have  no 
obligations  to  any  one.” 

“ But  I shall  be  under  obligations  to  you,”  said  Planchet. 

“ No ; for  whatever  store  I set  by  it,  Planchet,  I may 
lose  my  skin  yonder,  and  you  will  lose  all.  Apropos  — 
peste ! — that  makes  me  think  of  the  principal,  an  in- 
dispensable clause.  I will  write  it  : — 

“ * In  the  case  of  M.  d’Artagnan  succumbing  in  this  en- 
terprise, liquidation  will  be  considered  made,  and  the  Sieur 
Planchet  will  give  quittance  from  that  moment  to  the  shade 
of  Messire  d’Artagnan,  for  the  twenty  thousand  livres  paid 
by  him  into  the  treasury  of  the  said  partnership.’  ” 

This  last  clause  made  Planchet  knit  his  brows  a little ; 
but  when  he  saw  the  brilliant  eye,  the  muscular  hand, 
the  back  so  supple  and  strong,  of  his  associate,  he  re- 
gained his  courage,  and,  without  regret,  at  once  added 
another  stroke  to  his  signature.  D’Artagnan  did  the 
same.  Thus  was  drawn  the  first  deed  of  partnership 
known ; perhaps  such  things  have  been  abused  a little 
since,  both  in  form  and  principle. 

“Now,”  said  Planchet,  pouring  out  the  last  glass  of 
Anjou  wine  for  D’Artagnan,  — “ now  go  to  sleep,  my  dear 
master.” 

“No,”  replied  D’Artagnan;  “for  the  most  difficult 
part  now  remains  to  be  done,  and  I will  think  over  that 
difficult  part.” 

“Bah  ! ” said  Planchet;  “I  have  so  great  confidence 
in  you,  M.  d’Artagnan,  that  I would  not  give  my  hun- 
dred thousand  livres  for  ninety  thousand  livres  down.” 

“And  devil  take  me  if  I don’t  think  you  are  right ! ” 
Upon  which  D’Artagnan  took  a candle  and  went  up  to 
his  bedroom. 


D’ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL. 


201 


CHAPTER  XXL 

IN  WHICH  D’ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL  FOR  THE 
HOUSE  OF  PLANCHET  AND  COMPANY. 

DArtagnan  reflected  to  such  good  purpose  during  the 
night,  that  his  plan  was  settled  by  morning.  44  This  is 
it,”  said  he,  sitting  up  in  bed,  supporting  his  elbow  on 
his  knee  and  his  chin  in  his  hand,  — 44  this  is  it.  I will 
seek  out  forty  steady,  firm  men,  recruited  among  people 
a little  compromised,  but  having  habits  of  discipline.  I 
will  promise  them  five  hundred  livres  for  a month  if  they 
return;  nothing  if  they  do  not  return,  or  half  for  their 
kindred.  As  to  food  and  lodging,  that  concerns  the 
English,  who  have  beasts  in  their  pastures,  bacon  in 
their  bacon-racks,  fowls  in  their  poultry-yards,  and  corn 
in  their  barns.  I will  present  myself  to  General  Monk 
with  my  little  body  of  troops.  He  will  receive  me.  I 
shall  gain  his  confidence,  and  will  abuse  it  as  soon  as 
possible.” 

But  without  going  further,  DArtagnan  shook  his  head 
and  interrupted  himself.  44  Xo,”  said  he  ; “ I should  not 
dare  to  relate  this  to  Athos ; the  scheme  is  therefore  not 
honorable.  I must  use  violence,”  continued  he,  — 44  very 
certainly  I must,  but  without  compromising  my  loyalty. 
With  forty  men  I will  traverse  the  country  as  a partisan. 
But  if  I fall  in  with,  not  forty  thousand  English,  as  Plan- 
chet  said,  but  purely  and  simply  with  four  hundred,  I 
shall  be  beaten.  Supposing  that  among  my  forty  war- 


202 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


riors  there  should  be  found  at  least  ten  stupid  ones,  — 
ten  who  will  allow  themselves  to  be  killed  one  after  the 
other,  through  mere  stupidity?  No;  it  is,  in  fact,  im- 
possible to  find  forty  men  to  be  depended  upon,  — that  is 
out  of  the  question.  I must  learn  how  to  be  contented 
with  thirty.  With  ten  men  less  I should  have  the  right 
of  avoiding  any  encounter  at  arms,  on  account  of  the 
small  number  of  my  people  ; and  if  the  encounter  should 
take  place,  my  choice  is  much  more  certain  with  thirty 
men  than  forty.  Besides,  I should  save  five  thousand 
francs,  — that  is  to  say,  the  eighth  of  my  capital ; that  is 
worth  the  trial.  That  is  to  say,  I will  have  thirty  men. 
I will  divide  them  into  three  bands,  — we  will  spread 
ourselves  about  over  the  countiy,  with  instructions  for 
reunion  at  a given  moment ; in  this  fashion,  ten  by  ten, 
we  should  excite  no  suspicion,  we  should  pass  unper- 
ceived. Yes,  yes,  thirty,  — that  is  a magic  number.  There 
are  three  tens,  — three,  that  divine  number  ! And  then, 
truly,  a company  of  thirty  men,  when  all  together,  will 
look  rather  imposing.  Ah  ! stupid  wretch  that  I am  ! ” 
continued  D’Artagnan,  “ I want  thirty  horses.  That  is 
ruinous.  Where  the  devil  was  my  head  when  I forgot 
the  horses?  We  cannot,  however,  think  of  striking  such 
a blow  without  horses.  Well,  so  be  it,  that  sacrifice 
must  be  made ; we  can  get  the  horses  in  the  country,  — 
they  are  not  bad,  besides.  But  I forgot — peste  ! Three 
bands,  — that  necessitates  three  leaders  : there  is  the  diffi- 
culty. Of  the  three  commanders  I have  already  one,  — 
that  is  myself ; yes,  but  the  two  others  will  of  themselves 
cost  almost  as  much  money  as  all  the  rest  of  the  troop. 
No  ; decidedly  I must  have  but  one  lieutenant.  In  that 
case,  then,  I should  reduce  my  troop  to  twenty  men.  1 
know  very  well  that  twenty  men  is  but  very  little  ; but 
since  with  thirty  I was  determined  not  to  seek  to  come 


D’ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL. 


203 


to  blows,  I should  do  so  more  carefully  still  with  twenty. 
Twenty,  — that  is  a round  number ; that,  besides,  re- 
duces the  number  of  the  horses  by  ten,  which  is  a 
consideration ; and  then,  with  a good  lieutenant  — Mor- 
dioux!  what  things  patience  and  calculation  are  ! Was 
1 not  going  to  embark  with  forty  men,  and  I have  now 
reduced  them  to  twenty  for  an  equal  success?  Ten 
thousand  livres  saved  at  one  stroke,  and  more  safety ; 
that  is  well ! Now,  then,  let  us  see  ; we  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  find  this  lieutenant,  — let  him  be  found,  then  ; 
and  after  — % That  is  not  so  easy ; he  must  be  brave 
and  good,  a second  myself.  Yes;  but  a lieutenant  must 
have  my  secret,  and  as  that  secret  is  worth  a million, 
and  I shall  only  pay  my  man  a thousand  livres,  fifteen 
hundred  at  the  most,  my  man  will  sell  the  secret  to 
Monk.  Mordioux ! no  lieutenant.  Besides,  this  man, 
were  he  as  mute  as  a disciple  of  Pythagoras,  — this  man 
would  be  sure  to  have  in  the  troop  some  favorite  soldier, 
whom  he  would  make  his  sergeant ; the  sergeant  would 
penetrate  the  secret  of  the  lieutenant,  in  case  the  latter 
should  be  honest  and  unwilling  to  sell  it.  Then  the 
sergeant,  less  honest  and  less  ambitious,  will  give  up  the 
whole  for  fifty  thousand  livres.  Come,  come  ! that  is 
impossible.  Decidedly  the  lieutenant  is  impossible.  But 
then  I can  have  no  division  ; I cannot  divide  my  troop 
into  two,  and  act  upon  two  points  at  once,  without  an- 
other self,  who  — But  what  is  the  use  of  acting  upon 
two  points,  as  we  have  only  one  man  to  take  ? What  can 
be  the  good  to  weaken  a corps  by  placing  the  right  here, 
and  the  left  there  ? A single  corps  — mordioux  ! a single 
one,  and  that  commanded  by  D’Artagnan.  Very  well. 
But  twenty  men  marching  in  one  band  are  suspected  by 
everybody  ; twenty  horsemen  must  not  be  seen  marching 
together,  or  a company  will  be  detached  against  them, 


204 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  the  countersign  will  be  required  ; which  compan}T5 
upon  seeing  the  embarrassment  of  the  troop  in  giving  it, 
would  shoot  M.  d’Artagnan  and  his  men  like  so  many 
rabbits.  I reduce  myself,  then,  to  ten  men;  in  this 
fashion  I shall  act  simply  and  with  unity  ; I shall  be 
forced  to  be  prudent,  which  is  half  success  in  an  affair 
of  the  kind  I am  undertaking ; a greater  number  might, 
perhaps,  have  drawn  me  into  some  folly.  Ten  horses 
are  not  many  either  to  buy  or  take.  A capital  idea ; 
what  tranquillity  it  infuses  into  my  mind  ! No  more 
suspicions,  no  more  countersigns,  no  more  dangers ! 
Ten  men,  — they  are  valets  or  clerks.  Ten  men,  lead- 
ing ten  horses  laden  with  merchandise  of  whatever  kind, 
are  tolerated,  well  received  everywhere.  Ten  men  travel 
on  account  of  the  house  of  Planchet  & Co.,  of  France  : 
nothing  can  be  said  against  that.  These  ten  men, 
clothed  like  manufacturers,  have  a good  cutlass  or  a 
good  mousqueton  at  their  saddle-bow,  and  a good  pistol 
in  the  holster.  They  never  allow  themselves  to  be 
uneasy,  because  they  have  no  evil  designs.  They  are 
perhaps,  at  bottom,  a little  disposed  to  be  smugglers, 
but  what  harm  is  in  that  1 Smuggling  is  not,  like  po- 
lygamy, a hanging  offence.  The  worst  that  can  happen 
to  us  is  the  confiscation  of  our  merchandise.  Our  mer- 
chandise confiscated  — a fine  affair  that ! Come,  come  ! 
it  is  a superb  plan.  Ten  men  only  — ten  men,  whom  I 
will  engage  for  my  service ; ten  men,  who  shall  be  as 
resolute  as  forty  who  would  cost  me  four  times  as  much, 
and  to  whom,  for  greater  security,  I will  never  open  my 
mouth  as  to  my  designs,  and  to  whom  I shall  only  say, 
‘My  friends,  there  is  a blow  to  be  struck. 1 Things  be- 
ing after  this  fashion,  Satan  will  be  very  malicious  if  he 
plays  me  one  of  his  tricks.  Fifteen  thousand  livres 
saved  — that ’s  superb  — out  of  twenty  ! ” 


D'ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL.  205 

Thus  fortified  by  his  laborious  calculations,  D’Artagnan 
stopped  at  this  plan,  and  determined  to  change  nothing 
in  it.  He  had  already,  on  a list  furnished  by  his  inex- 
haustible memory,  ten  men  illustrious  among  the  seekers 
of  adventures,  ill  treated  by  fortune,  or  not  on  good  terms 
with  justice.  Upon  this  D’Artagnan  rose,  and  instantly 
set  off  on  the  search,  telling  Planchet  not  to  expect  him 
at  breakfast,  and  perhaps  not  at  dinner.  A day  and  a 
half  spent  in  rummaging  among  certain  cabins  in  Paris 
sufficed  for  his  recruiting;  and,  without  allowing  his 
adventurers  to  communicate  with  each  other,  he  had 
picked  up  and  got  together,  in  less  than  thirty  hours, 
a charming  collection  of  ill-looking  faces,  speaking  a 
French  less  pure  than  the  English  they  were  about  to 
attempt.  These  men  were,  for  the  most  part,  Guards, 
whose  merit  D’Artagnan  had  had  an  opportunity  of  ap- 
preciating in  various  encounters,  and  whom  drunkenness, 
unlucky  sword-thrusts,  unexpected  winnings  at  play,  or 
the  economical  reforms  of  Mazarin,  had  forced  to  seek 
shade  and  solitude,  those  two  great  consolers  of  irritated 
and  chafed  spirits.  They  bore  upon  their  countenances 
and  in  their  vestments  the  traces  of  the  heartaches  they 
had  undergone.  Some  had  their  visages  scarred,  — all 
had  their  clothes  in  rags.  D’Artagnan  comforted  the 
most  needy  of  these  fraternal  miserables  by  a prudent 
distribution  of  the  crowns  of  the  partnership ; then  hav- 
ing taken  care  that  these  crowns  should  be  employed  in 
the  physical  improvement  of  the  troop,  he  appointed  a 
rendezvous  with  them  in  the  North  of  France,  between 
Berghes  and  Saint-Omer.  Six  days  were  allowed  as  the 
utmost  term ; and  D’Artagnan  was  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  the  good  will,  the  good  humor,  and  the  comparative 
probity  of  these  illustrious  recruits,  to  be  certain  that 
not  one  of  them  would  fail  in  his  appointment.  These 


206  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

orders  given,  this  rendezvous  fixed,  he  went  to  bid  fare- 
well to  Planchet,  who  asked  news  of  his  army.  D’Ar- 
tagnan  did  not  think  proper  to  inform  him  of  the 
reduction  he  had  made  in  his  forces.  He  feared  he 
should  make  an  abatement  in  the  confidence  of  his  as- 
sociate by  such  an  avowal.  Planchet  was  delighted  to 
learn  that  the  army  was  levied,  and  that  he,  Planchet, 
should  find  himself  a kind  of  half-king,  who  from  his 
throne-counter  kept  in  pay  a body  of  troops  destined  to 
make  war  against  perfidious  Albion,  that  enemy  of  all 
true  French  hearts.  Planchet  paid  down,  in  double- 
louis,  twenty  thousand  livres  to  D’Artagnan,  on  the  part 
of  himself  (Planchet),  and  twenty  thousand  livres  more, 
still  in  double-louis,  on  account  of  D’Artagnan.  D’Ar- 
tagnan  placed  each  of  the  sums  in  a bag,  and  weighing  a 
bag  in  each  hand,  “This  money  is  very  embarrassing,  my 
dear  Planchet,”  said  he.  “Do  you  know  this  weighs 
more  than  thirty  pounds'?” 

“ Bah  ! your  horse  will  carry  that  like  a feather.” 
D’Artagnan  shook  his  head.  “ Don’t  tell  such  things 
to  me,  Planchet ; a horse  overloaded  with  thirty  pounds, 
in  addition  to  the  rider  and  his  portmanteau,  cannot  cross 
a river  so  easily,  — cannot  leap  over  a wall  or  a ditch  so 
lightly ; and  the  horse  failing,  the  horseman  fails.  It  is 
true  that  you,  Planchet,  who  have  served  in  the  infantry, 
may  not  be  aware  of  all  that.” 

“ Then  what  is  to  be  done,  Monsieur  ? ” said  Planchet, 
greatly  embarrassed. 

“ Listen  to  me,”  said  D’Artagnan.  “ I will  pay  my 
army  on  its  return  home.  Keep  my  half  of  twenty  thou- 
sand livres,  which  you  can  make  use  of  during  that 
time.” 

“ And  my  half?  ” said  Planchet. 

“ I will  take  that  with  me.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL. 


207 


“ Your  confidence  does  me  honor,”  said  Planchet ; 
u but  suppose  you  should  not  return  ? ” 

“ That  is  possible,  though  not  very  probable.  Then, 
Planchet,  in  case  I should  not  return  — give  me  a pen  ; 
I will  make  my  will.”  D’Artagnan  took  a pen  and  some 
paper,  and  wrote  upon  a plain  sheet : — 

“ I,  D’Artagnan,  possess  twenty  thousand  livres,  laid 
up,  sou  by  sou,  during  thirty  years  that  I have  been  in 
the  service  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of  France.  I leave 
five  thousand  to  Athos,  five  thousand  to  Porthos,  and  five 
thousand  to  Aramis,  that  they  may  give  the  said  sums 
in  my  name  and  their  own  to  my  young  friend  Eaoul, 
Yicomte  de  Bragelonne.  I give  the  remaining  five  thou- 
sand to  Planchet,  that  he  may  distribute  the  fifteen 
thousand  with  less  regret  among  my  friends.  With 
which  purpose  I sign  these  presents.  — D’Artagnan.” 
Planchet  appeared  very  curious  to  know  what  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  written. 

“ Here,”  said  the  musketeer,  “ read  it.” 

On  reading  the  last  lines  the  tears  came  into  Planchet’s 
eyes.  “ You  think,  then,  that  I would  not  have  given 
the  money  without  that  ? Then  I will  have  none  of  your 
five  thousand  francs.” 

D’Artagnan  smiled.  “ Accept  it,  accept  it,  Planchet ; 
and  in  that  way  you  will  only  lose  fifteen  thousand  francs 
instead  of  twenty  thousand,  and  you  will  not  be  tempted 
to  disregard  the  signature  of  your  master  and  friend  in 
seeking  how  to  lose  nothing  at  all.” 

How  well  that  dear  M.  d’Artagnan  was  acquainted 
with  the  hearts  of  men  and  of  grocers  ! They  who  have 
pronounced  Don  Quixote  mad  because  he  rode  out  to  the 
conquest  of  an  empire  with  nobody  but  Sancho  his  squire, 
and  they  who  have  pronounced  Sancho  mad  because  he 
accompanied  his  master  in  his  attempt  to  conquer  the 


208 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


said  empire,  — they  certainly  will  have  no  hesitation  in 
extending  the  same  judgment  to  D’Artagnan  and  Planchet. 
And  yet  the  first  passed  for  one  of  the  most  subtle  spirits 
among  the  astute  minds  of  the  court  of  France.  As  to 
the  second,  he  had  acquired  by  good  right  the  reputation  of 
having  one  of  the  longest  heads  among  the  grocers  of  the 
Bue  des  Lombards  ; consequently  of  Paris,  consequently  of 
France.  Now,  to  consider  these  two  men  from  the  point 
of  view  in  which  you  would  consider  other  men,  and  the 
means  by  the  aid  of  which  they  contemplated  to  restore 
a monarch  to  his  throne,  comparatively  with  other  means, 
the  shallowest  brains  of  the  country  where  brains  are  most 
shallow  must  have  revolted  against  the  presumptuous 
madness  of  the  lieutenant  and  the  stupidity  of  his  associate* 
Fortunately  D’Artagnan  was  not  a man  to  listen  to  the 
idle  talk  of  those  around  him,  or  to  the  comments  that 
were  made  on  himself.  He  had  adopted  the  motto,  “ Act 
well,  and  let  people  talk.”  Planchet,  on  his  part,  had 
adopted  this  : “ Act,  and  say  nothing.”  It  resulted  from 
this,  that,  according  to  the  custom  of  all  superior  geniuses, 
these  two  men  flattered  themselves,  intra  pectus,  with 
being  in  the  right  against  all  who  found  fault  with  them. 

As  a beginning  D’Artagnan  set  out  in  the  finest  of 
possible  weather,  without  a cloud  in  the  heavens,  — with- 
out a cloud  on  his  mind,  joyous  and  strong,  calm  and 
decided,  great  in  his  resolution,  and  consequently  carry- 
ing with  him  a tenfold  dose  of  that  potent  fluid  which  the 
shocks  of  mind  cause  to  spring  from  the  nerves,  and  which 
procure  for  the  human  machine  a force  and  an  influence 
of  which  future  ages  will  render,  according  to  all  proba- 
bility, an  account  more  arithmetically  than  we  can  possibly 
do  at  present.  He  was  again,  as  in  times  past,  in  that 
same  road  fertile  of  adventures  which  had  led  him  to 
Boulogne,  and  which  he  was  now  travelling  for  the  fourth 


D’ARTAGNAN  PREPARES  TO  TRAVEL. 


209 


time.  It  appeared  to  him  that  he  could  almost  recognize 
the  trace  of  his  own  steps  upon  the  road,  and  that  of  his 
fist  upon  the  doors  of  the  hostelries ; his  memory,  always 
active  and  present,  brought  back  that  youth  which  had 
not,  thirty  years  before,  belied  either  his  great  heart  or- 
his  wrist  of  steel.  What  a rich  nature  was  that  of  this 
man  ! He  had  all  passions,  all  defects,  all  weaknesses ; 
and  the  spirit  of  contradiction,  familiar  to  his  understand- 
ing, changed  all  these  imperfections  into  corresponding  qual- 
ities. D’Artagnan,  thanks  to  his  ever-active  imagination, 
was  afraid  of  a shadow  ; and  ashamed  of  being  afraid,  he 
marched  straight  up  to  that  shadow,  and  then  became 
extravagant  in  his  bravery,  if  the  danger  proved  to  be  real. 
Thus  everything  in  him  was  emotion,  and  therefore  enjoy- 
ment. He  loved  the  society  of  others,  but  never  became 
tired  of  his  own  ; and  more  than  once,  if  he  could  have 
been  observed  when  he  was  alone,  he  might  have  been 
seen  laughing  at  the  jokes  he  related  to  himself,  or  the 
tricks  his  imagination  created  just  five  minutes  before 
ennui  might  overtake  him.  D’Artagnan  was  not  perhaps 
so  gay  this  time  as  he  would  have  been  with  the  prospect 
of  finding  some  good  friends  at  Calais,  instead  of  that  of 
joining  the  ten  scamps  there.  Melancholy,  however,  did 
not  visit  him  above  once  a day ; and  he  received  about 
five  visits  from  that  sombre  deity  before  he  got  sight 
of  the  sea  at  Boulogne,  and  these  visits  were  indeed  but 
short.  But  when  once  D’Artagnan  found  himself  near  the 
field  of  action,  all  other  feeling  but  that  of  confidence  disap- 
peared never  to  return.  From  Boulogne  he  followed  the 
coast  to  Calais.  Calais  was  the  place  of  general  rendezvous, 
and  at  Calais  he  had  named  to  each  of  his  recruits  the 
hostelry  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  where  living  was  not 
extravagant,  where  sailors  messed,  and  where  men  of  the 
sword,  with  sheath  of  leather  be  it  understood,  found 
VOL.  i.  — 14 


210 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


lodging,  table,  food,  and  all  the  comforts  of  life^  for  thirty 
sous  per  diem.  D’Artagnan  proposed  to  himself  to  take 
them  by  surprise  in  flagrante  delicto  of  wandering  life,  and 
to  judge  by  the  first  appearance  if  he  could  reckon  upon 
them  as  trusty  companions. 

He  arrived  at  Calais  at  half-past  four  in  the  afternoon. 


D’ARTAGNAN  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 


211 


CHAPTEE  XXII. 

d’artagnan  travels  for  the  house  OF  PLAN  CHET 

AND  COMPANY. 

The  hostelry  of  the  Grand  Monarque  was  situated  in 
a little  street  parallel  to  the  port,  but  not  opening  out 
upon  the  port  itself.  Some  lanes  cut  — as  steps  cut  the 
two  parallels  of  the  ladder  — the  two  great  straight  lines 
of  the  port  and  the  street.  By  these  lanes  passengers 
came  suddenly  from  the  port  into  the  street,  and  from 
the  street  on  to  the  port.  D’Artagnan,  arrived  at  the 
port,  took  one  of  these  lanes,  and  came  out  unexpectedly 
in  front  of  the  hostelry  of  the  Grand  Monarque.  The 
moment  was  well  chosen,  and  might  remind  D’Artagnan 
of  his  start  in  life  at  the  hostelry  of  the  Franc-Meunier 
at  Meung.  Some  sailors  who  had  been  playing  at  dice 
had  started  a quarrel,  and  wTere  threatening  one  another 
furiously.  The  host,  hostess,  and  two  lads  were  watching 
with  anxiety  the  circle  of  these  angry  gamblers,  from  the 
midst  of  which  war  seemed  ready  to  break  forth,  bristling 
with  knives  and  hatchets.  The  play,  nevertheless,  was 
continued.  A stone  bench  was  occupied  by  two  men, 
who  appeared  thence  to  watch  the  door;  four  tables, 
placed  at  the  back  of  the  common  chamber,  were  occupied 
by  eight  other  individuals.  Neither  the  men  at  the  door 
nor  those  at  the  tables  took  any  part  in  the  play  or  the 
quarrel.  D’Artagnan  recognized  his  ten  men  in  these 
cold,  indifferent  spectators.  The  quarrel  went  on  increas- 
ing. Every  passion  has,  like  the  sea,  its  tide  which  rises 


212 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  falls.  Arrived  at  the  climax  of  passion,  one  sailor 
overturned  the  table  and  the  money  which  was  upon  it. 
The  table  fell,  and  the  money  rolled  about.  In  an  instant 
all  belonging  to  the  hostelry  threw  themselves  upon  the 
stakes,  and  many  a piece  of  silver  was  picked  up  by 
people  who  stole  away  while  the  sailors  were  scuffling 
with  one  another. 

The  two  men  on  the  bench  and  the  eight  at  the  tables, 
although  they  seemed  perfect  strangers  to  one  another,  — 
these  ten  men  alone,  we  say,  appeared  to  have  agreed  to 
remain  impassive  amidst  the  cries  of  fury  and  the  chink- 
ing of  money.  Two  only  contented  themselves  with  re- 
pulsing with  their  feet  combatants  who  came  under  their 
table.  Two  others,  rather  than  take  part  in  this  disturb- 
ance, buried  their  hands  in  their  pockets;  and  another 
two  jumped  upon  the  table  they  occupied,  as  do  people 
surprised  by  a freshet,  to  avoid  being  submerged  by  over- 
flowing water. 

“Come,  come,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  having  lost 
none  of  the  details  we  have  related,  “ this  is  a very  fair 
gathering,  — circumspect,  calm,  accustomed  to  disturb- 
ance, acquainted  with  blows  ! Peste  ! I have  been  lucky/’ 

All  at  once  his  attention  was  called  to  a particular 
part  of  the  room.  The  two  men  who  had  repulsed  the 
stragglers  with  their  feet,  were  assailed  with  abuse  by 
the  sailors,  wTho  had  become  reconciled.  One  of  them, 
half  drunk  wTith  passion  and  quite  drunk  with  beer,  came, 
in  a menacing  manner,  to  demand  of  the  shorter  of  these 
two  sages,  by  what  right  he  had  touched  with  his  foot 
creatures  of  the  good  God,  who  were  not  dogs.  And 
while  putting  this  question,  in  order  to  make  it  more 
direct,  he  applied  his  great  fist  to  the  nose  of  D’Artagnan’s 
recruit.  This  man  became  pale,  but  it  was  not  discerni- 
ble whether  his  paleness  arose  from  anger  or  from  fear ; 


D’ARTAGNAN  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 


213 


seeing  which,  the  sailor  concluded  it  was  from  fear,  and 
raised  his  fist  with  the  manifest  intention  ol  letting  it 
fall  upon  the  head  of  the  stranger.  But  the  threatened 
man,  without  appearing  to  move,  dealt  the  sailor  such  a 
severe  blow  in  the  stomach  as  sent  him  rolling  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room  with  frightful  cries.  At  the  same 
instant,  rallied  by  the  esprit  de  corps , all  the  comrades  of 
the  conquered  man  fell  upon  the  conqueror.  The  latter, 
with  the  same  coolness  of  which  he  had  given  proof, 
without  committing  the  imprudence  of  touching  his  arms, 
took  up  a beer-pot  with  a pewter  lid,  and  knocked  down 
two  or  three  of  his  assailants ; then,  as  he  was  about  to 
yield  to  numbers,  the  seven  other  silent  men  at  the  tables, 
who  had  not  stirred,  perceived  that  their  cause  was  at 
stake,  and  came  to  the  rescue.  At  the  same  time  the 
two  indifferent  spectators  at  the  door  turned  round  with 
frowning  brows,  indicating  their  evident  intention  of 
taking  the  enemy  in  the  rear,  if  the  enemy  did  not  cease 
their  aggressions.  The  host,  his  helpers,  and  two  watch- 
men who  were  passing,  and  who  from  curiosity  had 
penetrated  too  far  into  the  room,  were  confounded  in  the 
tumult  and  loaded  with  blows.  The  Parisians  hit  like 
Cyclops,  with  a solidity  and  skill  delightful  to  behold. 
At  length,  obliged  to  beat  a retreat  before  numbers,  they 
formed  an  intrenchment  behind  the  great  table,  which 
they  raised  by  main  force,  wThile  the  two  others  armed 
themselves  each  with  a trestle,  and,  using  it  like  a great 
sledge-hammer,  knocked  down  at  a blow  eight  sailors  upon 
whose  heads  they  had  brought  their  monstrous  catapult 
to  bear.  The  floor  was  already  strewn  with  wounded,  and 
the  room  filled  with  cries  and  dust,  when  D’Artagnan,  sat- 
isfied with  the  test,  advanced,  sword  in  hand ; and  strik- 
ing with  the  pommel  every  head  that  came  in  his  way, 
he  uttered  a vigorous  Holloa  ! which  put  an  instantaneous 


214 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


end  to  the  conflict.  A great  back-flood  from  the  centre 
to  the  sides  of  the  room  directly  took  place,  so  that 
D’Artagnan  found  himself  isolated  and  master  of  the 
situation. 

“ What  is  all  this  about?”  then  demanded  he  of  the 
assembly,  with  the  majestic  tone  of  Neptune  pronouncing 
the  Quos  ego. 

At  the  very  instant,  at  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  to 
carry  on  the  Virgilian  metaphor,  D’ Art  agnail’s  recruits, 
each  recognizing  his  sovereign  lord,  discontinued  at  the 
same  time  their  anger,  their  plank-fighting,  and  trestle 
blows.  On  their  side,  the  sailors,  seeing  that  long,  naked 
sword,  that  martial  air,  and  the  agile  arm  which  came  to 
the  rescue  of  their  enemies,  in  the  person  of  a man  who 
seemed  accustomed  to  command, — on  their  part,  the  sailors 
picked  up  their  wounded  and  their  pitchers.  The  Pari- 
sians wiped  their  brows,  and  viewed  their  leader  with  re- 
spect. D’Artagnan  was  loaded  with  thanks  by  the  host 
of  the  Grand  Monarque.  He  received  them  like  a 
man  who  knows  that  nothing  is  being  offered  that  does 
not  belong  to  him,  and  then  said  he  would  go  and  walk 
upon  the  port,  till  supper  was  ready.  Immediately  each 
of  the  recruits,  who  understood  the  summons,  took  his 
hat,  brushed  the  dust  off  his  clothes,  and  followed  D’Ar- 
tagnan. But  D’Artagnan,  while  observing,  examining 
everything,  took  care  not  to  stop.  He  directed  his  course 
towards  the  dune ; and  the  ten  men  — surprised  at  finding 
themselves  going  in  the  same  path,  uneasy  at  seeing  on 
their  right,  on  their  left,  and  behind  them,  companions 
upon  whom  they  had  not  reckoned  — followed  him,  cast- 
ing furtive  glances  at  one  another.  It  was  not  till  he  had 
arrived  at  the  hollow  part  of  the  deepest  dune  that  D’Ar- 
tagnan, smiling  at  seeing  their  shyness,  turned  towards 
them,  making  a friendly  sign  with  his  hand. 


D’ARTAGNAN  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 


215 


“ Eh ! come,  come,  Messieurs,”  said  he,  “ let  us  not 
devour  one  another ; you  are  made  to  live  together,  to 
understand  one  another  in  all  respects,  and  not  to  devour 
one  another.” 

Instantly  all  hesitation  ceased  ; the  men  breathed  as  if 
they  had  been  taken  out  of  a coffin,  and  examined  one 
another  quietly.  After  this  examination  they  turned 
their  eyes  towards  their  leader,  who,  long  acquainted  with 
the  art  of  speaking  to  men  of  that  class,  improvised  the 
following  little  speech,  pronounced  with  an  energy  truly 
Gascon  : — 

“ Messieurs,  you  all  know  who  I am.  I have  engaged 
you  knowing  you  are  brave,  and  willing  to  associate  you 
with  me  in  a glorious  enterprise.  Figure  to  yourselves  that 
in  laboring  for  me  you  labor  for  the  king.  I only  warn 
you  that  if  you  allow  anything  of  this  supposition  to  ap- 
pear, I shall  be  forced  to  crack  your  skulls  immediately, 
in  the  manner  most  convenient  to  me.  You  are  not  ig- 
norant, Messieurs,  that  State  secrets  are  like  a mortal 
poison  : as  long  as  that  poison  is  in  its  box  and  the  box 
closed,  it  is  not  injurious  ; out  of  the  box  it  kills.  Now 
draw  near,  and  you  shall  know  as  much  of  this  secret  as 
I am  able  to  tell  you.”  All  drew  close  to  him  with  an 
expression  of  curiosity.  “ Approach,”  continued  D’Ar- 
tagnan,  “and  let  not  the  bird  which  passes  over  our  heads, 
the  rabbit  which  sports  in  the  dunes,  the  tish  which  leaps 
from  the  waters,  hear  us.  Our  business  is  to  learn  and  to 
report  to  Monsieur  the  superintendant  of  finance  to  what 
extent  English  smuggling  is  injurious  to  the  French  mer- 
chants. I will  enter  every  place  and  wall  see  everything. 
We  are  poor  Picard  fishermen,  thrown  upon  the  coast  by 
a storm.  It  is  certain  that  we  must  sell  fish,  neither 
more  nor  less,  like  true  fishermen.  Only  people  might 
guess  who  we  are,  and  might  molest  us ; it  is  therefore 


216 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


necessary  that  we  should  be  in  a condition  to  defend  our- 
selves. And  this  is  why  I have  selected  men  of  spirit 
and  courage.  We  will  lead  a steady  life,  and  we  shall 
not  incur  much  danger,  seeing  that  we  have  behind  us  a 
powerful  protector,  thanks  to  whom  no  embarrassment  is 
possible.  One  thing  alone  annoys  me  ; but  I hope,  after 
a short  explanation,  you  will  relieve  me  from  that  diffi- 
culty. The  thing  which  annoys  me  is  taking  with  me  a 
crew  of  stupid  fishermen,  who  will  be  very  much  in  the 
way ; while  if,  by  chance,  there  were  among  you  any  who 
have  seen  the  sea  — ” 

“ Oh  ! let  not  that  trouble  you,”  said  one  of  the  re- 
cruits; “I  was  a prisoner  among  the  pirates  of  Tunis 
three  years,  and  can  manoeuvre  a boat  like  an  admiral.” 

“See,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ what  an  admirable  thing  is 
chance ! ” D’Artagnan  pronounced  these  words  with  an 
indefinable  tone  of  feigned  simplicity  ; for  D’Artagnan 
knew  very  well  that  the  victim  of  pirates  was  an  old  cor- 
sair, and  he  had  engaged  him  in  consequence  of  that 
knowledge.  But  D’Artagnan  never  said  more  than  there 
was  occasion  for  saying,  in  order  to  leave  people  in 
doubt.  He  was  satisfied  with  the  explanation,  and  wel- 
comed the  effect,  without  appearing  to  be  preoccupied 
with  the  cause. 

“ And  I,”  said  a second,  — “ I,  by  chance,  had  an  uncle 
who  directed  the  works  of  the  port  of  La  Bochelle.  When 
quite  a child,  I played  about  the  boats,  and  I know  how 
to  handle  an  oar  or  a sail  as  well  as  the  best  ocean 
sailor.” 

The  last  did  not  lie  much  more  than  the  first,  for  he 
had  rowed  on  board  his  Majesty’s  galleys  six  years,  at 
Ciotat.  Two  others  were  more  frank:  they  confessed 
honestly  that  they  had  served  on  board  a vessel  as 
soldiers  on  punishment,  and  did  not  blush  at  it.  D’Ar- 


D’ARTAGNAN  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 


217 


tagnan  found  himself,  then,  the  leader  of  six  soldiers  and 
four  sailors,  having  at  once  a land  army  and  a sea  force ; 
which  would  have  carried  the  pride  of  Planchet  to  its 
height,  if  Planchet  had  known  the  details. 

Nothing  was  now  left  but  the  general  orders,  and  D’Ar- 
tagnan  gave  them  with  precision.  He  enjoined  his  men 
to  be  ready  to  set  out  for  the  Hague, — some  following  the 
coast  which  leads  to  Breskens,  others  the  road  to  Ant- 
werp. The  rendezvous  was  given,  by  calculating  each 
day’s  march,  at  fifteen  days  from  that  time,  upon  the  chief 
place  at  the  Hague.  D’Artagnan  recommended  his  men 
to  go  in  couples,  as  they  liked  best,  from  sympathy.  He 
himself  selected  from  among  those  with  the  least  hang- 
ing look,  two  guards  whom  he  had  formerly  known,  and 
whose  only  faults  were  being  drunkards  and  gamblers. 
These  men  had  not  entirely  lost  all  ideas  of  civilization, 
and  under  proper  habiliments  their  hearts  would  have 
renewed  their  beatings.  D’Artagnan,  not  to  occasion 
jealousy  among  the  others,  made  the  rest  go  forward. 
He  kept  his  two  selected  ones,  clothed  them  from  his  own 
kit,  and  set  out  with  them.  It  was  to  these  two,  whom 
he  seemed  to  honor  with  an  absolute  confidence,  that 
D’Artagnan  made  a pretended  avowal,  designed  to  secure 
the  success  of  his  expedition.  He  confessed  to  them  that 
the  object  was  not  to  learn  to  what  extent  the  French  mer- 
chants were  injured  by  English  smuggling,  but  to  learn 
how  far  French  smuggling  could  annoy  English  trade. 
These  men  appeared  convinced ; they  were  effectively  so. 
D’Artagnan  was  quite  sure  that  at  the  first  debauch, 
when  thoroughly  drunk,  one  of  the  two  would  divulge 
the  secret  to  the  whole  4oand.  His  play  appeared  to  him 

infallible. 

A fortnight  after  all  we  have  said  had  taken  place  at 
Calais,  the  whole  troop  assembled  at  the  Hague.  Then 


218 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


D’Artagnan  perceived  that  all  his  men,  with  remarkable 
intelligence,  had  already  disguised  themselves  as  sailors, 
more  or  less  ill-treated  by  the  sea.  D’Artagnan  left  them 
to  sleep  in  a cabin  in  Newkerke  Street,  while  he  lodged 
comfortably  upon  the  Grand  Canal.  He  learned  that 
the  King  of  England  had  come  back  to  his  old  ally  Wil- 
liam II.  of  Nassau,  Stadtholder  of  Holland.  He  learned 
also  that  the  refusal  of  Louis  XIV.  had  a little  cooled 
the  protection  afforded  him  up  to  that  time,  and  in  con- 
sequence he  had  gone  to  reside  in  a little  village  house  at 
Scheveningen,  situated  in  the  dunes,  on  the  seashore, 
about  a league  from  the  Hague.  There,  it  was  said,  the 
unfortunate  banished  king  consoled  himself  in  his  exile, 
by  looking,  with  the  melancholy  peculiar  to  the  princes 
of  his  race,  at  that  immense  North  Sea,  which  separated 
him  from  his  England,  as  it  had  formerly  separated  Marie 
Stuart  from  France.  There,  behind  the  trees  of  the  beau- 
tiful wood  of  Scheveningen,  on  the  fine  sand  upon  which 
grows  the  golden  broom  of  the  dune,  Charles  II.  vegetated 
as  it  did,  — more  unfortunate  than  it,  for  he  had  life  and 
thought,  and  he  hoped  and  despaired  by  turns. 

D’Artagnan  went  once  as  far  as  Scheveningen,  in  order 
to  be  certain  that  all  was  true  that  was  said  of  the  king. 
He  beheld  Charles  II.,  pensive  and  alone,  coming  out  of 
a little  door  opening  into  the  wood,  and  walking  on  the 
beach  in  the  setting  sun,  without  even  attracting  the 
attention  of  the  fishermen  who,  on  their  return  in  the  even- 
ing, drew,  like  the  ancient  mariners  of  the  Archipelago, 
their  barks  up  upon  the  sand  of  the  shore.  D’Artagnan 
recognized  the  king ; he  saw  him  fix  his  melancholy  look 
upon  the  immense  extent  of  the  waters,  and  absorb  upon 
his  pale  countenance  the  red  rays  of  the  sun  already  cut 
by  the  black  line  of  the  horizon.  Then  Charles  returned 
to  his  isolated  abode,  still  alone,  still  slow  and  sad,  amus- 


D’ARTAGNAN  ON  HIS  TRAVELS. 


219 


ing  himself  with  making  the  friable  and  moving  sand 
creak  beneath  his  feet.  That  very  evening  D’Artagnan 
hired  for  a thousand  livres  a fishing-boat  worth  four 
thousand.  He  paid  the  thousand  livres  down,  and  depos- 
ited the  three  thousand  with  a burgomaster,  after  which 
he  embarked  without  their  being  seen,  and  in  a dark 
night,  the  six  men  who  formed  his  land  army ; and  with 
the  rising  tide,  at  three  o’clock  in  the  morning,  he  got 
into  the  open  sea,  manoeuvring  ostensibly  with  the  four 
others,  and  depending  upon  the  science  of  his  galley  slave 
as  upon  that  of  the  first  pilot  of  the  port. 


220 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

IN  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR,  VERY  UNWILLINGLY,  IS  FORCED 
TO  WRITE  A LITTLE  HISTORY. 

While  kings  and  men  were  thus  occupied  with  England, 
which  governed  itself  quite  alone,  and  which,  it  must  be 
said  to  its  praise,  had  never  been  so  badly  governed,  a 
man  upon  whom  God  had  fixed  his  eye  and  placed  his 
finger,  a man  predestined  to  write  his  name  in  brilliant 
letters  in  the  book  of  history,  was  pursuing  in  the  face  of 
the  world  a work  full  of  mystery  and  audacity.  He  went 
on  ; and  no  one  knew  whither  he  meant  to  go,  although 
not  only  England,  but  France,  even  Europe,  watched  him 
marching  with  a firm  step  and  lofty  head.  All  that  was 
known  of  this  man  we  are  about  to  tell.  Monk  had  just 
declared  for  the  liberty  of  the  Rump  Parliament, — a parlia- 
ment which  General  Lambert,  imitating  Cromwell,  whose 
lieutenant  he  had  been,  had  just  blocked  up  so  closely,  in 
order  to  bring  it  to  his  will,  that  no  member,  during  all 
the  blockade,  was  able  to  go  out,  and  only  one,  Peter 
Wentworth,  had  been  able  to  get  in.  Lambert  and 
Monk,  — everything  centred  in  these  two  men ; the 
first  representing  military  despotism,  the  second  repre- 
senting pure  republicanism.  These  men  were  the  two 
sole  political  representatives  of  that  revolution  in  which 
Charles  I.  had  at  first  lost  his  crown,  and  afterwards  his 
head.  As  regarded  Lambert,  he  did  not  dissemble  his 
views ; he  sought  to  establish  a military  government,  and 
to  be  himself  the  head  of  that  government. 


HISTORICAL. 


221 


Monk  — a rigid  republican,  some  said  — wished  to  main- 
tain the  Rump  Parliament,  that  visible  though  degener- 
ate representative  of  the  republic.  Monk  — artful  and 
ambitious,  said  others  — wished  simply  to  make  of  this 
parliament,  which  he  affected  to  protect,  a solid  step  by 
which  to  mount  the  throne  which  Cromwell  had  made 
empty,  but  upon  which  he  had  never  dared  to  take  his 
seat.  Thus  Lambert  by  persecuting  the  Parliament,  and 
Monk  by  declaring  for  it,  had  mutually  proclaimed  them- 
selves enemies  of  each  other.  Monk  and  Lambert,  there- 
fore, had  at  first  thought  of  creating  an  army  each  for 
himself,  — Monk  in  Scotland,  where  were  the  Presbyter- 
ians and  the  royalists,  that  is  to  say,  the  malecontents ; 
Lambert  in  London,  where  was  found,  as  is  always  the 
case,  the  strongest  opposition  against  the  power  which 
w^as  in  sight.  Monk  had  pacified  Scotland ; he  had 
there  formed  for  himself  an  army,  and  found  an  asylum. 
The  one  watched  the  other.  Monk  knew  that  the  day 
was  not  yet  come,  the  day  marked  by  the  Lord  for  a 
great  change  ; his  sword,  therefore,  appeared  glued  to  the 
sheath.  Inexpugnable  in  his  wild  and  mountainous  Scot- 
land, an  absolute  general,  king  of  an  army  of  eleven 
thousand  old  soldiers,  whom  he  had  more  than  once  led 
on  to  victory ; as  well  informed,  nay,  even  better,  of  the 
affairs  of  London,  than  Lambert,  who  held  garrison  in  the 
city,  — such  was  the  position  of  Monk,  when,  at  a hun- 
dred leagues  from  London,  he  declared  himself  for  the 
parliament.  Lambert,  on  the  contrary,  as  we  have  said, 
lived  in  the  capital.  That  was  the  centre  of  all  his  oper- 
ations, and  he  there  collected  around  him  all  his  friends, 
and  all  the  lower  class  of  the  people,  always  inclined  to 
cherish  the  enemies  of  constituted  power.  It  was,  then, 
in  London  that  Lambert  learned  of  the  support  that, 
from  the  frontiers  of  Scotland,  Monk  lent  to  the  Parlia 


222 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


ment.  He  judged  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  and  that 
the  Tweed  was  not  so  far  distant  from  the  Thames  that 
an  army  could  not  march  from  one  river  to  the  other, 
especially  if  well  commanded.  He  knew,  besides,  that  as 
fast  as  the  soldiers  of  Monk  penetrated  into  England, 
they  would  form  on  their  route  that  ball  of  snow,  the  em- 
blem of  the  globe  of  fortune,  which  is  for  the  ambitious 
nothing  but  a step  rising  without  cessation  to  lift  him  to 
the  object  of  his  pursuit.  He  got  together,  then,  his 
army,  formidable  at  the  same  time  for  its  character  and 
its  numbers,  and  hastened  to  meet  Monk,  who,  on  his 
part,  like  a prudent  navigator  sailing  amid  rocks,  ad- 
vanced by  very  short  marches,  his  nose  to  the  wind,  lis- 
tening to  the  reports  and  scenting  the  air  which  came 
from  London. 

The  two  armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other  near  Newr- 
castle.  Lambert,  arriving  first,  encamped  in  the  city 
itself.  Monk,  always  circumspect,  stopped  wThere  he  was, 
and  placed  his  general  quarters  at  Coldstream,  on  the 
Tweed.  The  sight  of  Lambert  spread  joy  through  the 
army  of  Monk,  while,  on  the  contrary,  the  sight  of  Monk 
threw  disorder  into  the  army  of  Lambert.  It  might  have 
been  believed  that  these  intrepid  warriors,  who  had  made 
such  a noise  in  the  streets  of  London,  had  set  out  with 
the  hopes  of  meeting  no  one,  and  that  now,  seeing  that 
they  had  met  an  army,  and  that  that  army  hoisted  before 
them  not  only  a standard,  but  still  further,  a cause  and  a 
principle,  — it  might  have  been  believed,  we  say,  that 
these  intrepid  warriors  had  begun  to  reflect  that  they 
were  less  good  republicans  than  the  soldiers  of  Monk,  — 
since  the  latter  supported  the  Parliament,  while  Lambert 
supported  nothing,  not  even  himself.  As  to  Monk,  if  he 
had  had  to  reflect,  or  if  he  did  reflect,  it  must  have  been 
after  a sad  fashion  ; for  history  relates  — and  that  modest 


HISTORICAL. 


223 


dame,  it  is  well  known,  never  lies  — for  history  relates 
that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  at  Coldstream  search  was 
made  in  vain  throughout  the  place  for  a single  sheep. 

If  Monk  had  commanded  an  English  army,  that  would 
have  been  enough  to  bring  about  a general  desertion. 
But  it  is  not  with  the  Scotch  as  it  is  with  the  English,  to 
whom  that  fluid  flesh  which  is  called  blood  is  a para- 
mount necessity ; the  Scotch,  a poor  and  sober  race,  live 
upon  a little  barley  crushed  between  two  stones,  diluted 
with  the  water  of  the  fountain,  and  cooked  upon  another 
stone,  heated.  The  Scotch,  their  distribution  of  barley 
being  made,  cared  very  little  whether  there  was  or  was 
not  any  meat  in  Coldstream.  Monk,  little  accustomed  to 
barley- cakes,  was  hungry  ; and  his  staff,  at  least  as  hungry 
as  himself,  looked  with  anxiety  to  the  right  and  left,  to 
know  what  was  being  got  ready  for  supper.  Monk  or- 
dered search  to  be  made  ; his  scouts  had,  on  arriving  in 
the  place,  found  it  deserted  and  the  cupboards  empty ; 
upon  butchers  and  bakers  it  was  of  no  use  depending  in 
Coldstream.  The  smallest  morsel  of  bread,  then,  could 
not  be  found  for  the  general’s  table. 

As  accounts  succeeded  one  another,  all  equally  unsatis- 
factory, Monk,  seeing  terror  and  discouragement  upon 
every  face,  declared  that  he  was  not  hungry ; besides, 
they  should  eat  on  the  morrow,  since  Lambert  was  there 
probably  with  the  intention  of  giving  battle,  and  conse- 
quently of  giving  up  his  provisions  if  he  were  beaten  in 
Newcastle,  or  of  delivering  the  soldiers  of  Monk  from  hun- 
ger forever  if  he  should  be  victorious.  This  consolation 
was  efficacious  upon  only  a very  small  number ; but  that 
was  of  small  importance  to  Monk,  — for  Monk  was  very  ab- 
solute, under  the  appearance  of  the  most  perfect  mildness. 
Every  one,  therefore,  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied,  or  at 
least  to  appear  so.  Monk,  quite  as  hungry  as  his  people, 


224 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


but  affecting  perfect  indifference  for  the  absent  mutton, 
cut  a fragment  of  tobacco,  half  an  inch  long,  from  the 
plug  of  a sergeant  who  formed  part  of  his  suite,  and  be- 
gan to  masticate  the  said  fragment,  assuring  his  lieuten- 
ants that  hunger  was  a chimera,  and  that,  besides,  people 
were  never  hungry  when  they  had  anything  to  chew. 
This  pleasantry  satisfied  some  of  those  who  had  resisted 
Monk’s  first  deduction  from  the  neighborhood  of  Lam- 
bert’s army ; the  number  of  the  dissentients  diminished 
then  greatly ; the  guard  took  their  posts,  the  patrols  be- 
gan, and  the  general  continued  his  frugal  repast  under 
his  open  tent. 

Between  his  camp  and  that  of  the  enemy  stood  an  old 
abbey,  of  which,  at  the  present  day,  there  only  remain 
some  ruins,  but  which  then  was  in  good  condition,  and 
was  called  Newcastle  Abbey.  It  was  built  upon  a vast 
site,  independent  at  once  of  the  plain  and  of  the  river, 
because  it  was  almost  a marsh  fed  by  springs  and  kept 
up  by  rains.  Nevertheless,  in  the  midst  of  these  strips 
of  water,  covered  with  long  grass,  rushes,  and  reeds,  were 
seen  elevated  solid  spots  of  ground,  consecrated  formerly 
to  the  kitchen-garden,  the  park,  the  pleasure-gardens,  and 
other  dependencies  of  the  abbey,  — like  one  of  those  great 
sea-spiders,  whose  body  is  round,  while  the  claws  radiate 
from  this  circumference.  The  kitchen-garden,  one  of 
the  longest  claws  of  the  abbey,  extended  to  the  camp  of 
Monk.  Unfortunately  it  was,  as  we  have  said,  early  in 
June ; and  the  kitchen-garden,  being  abandoned,  offered 
no  resources.  Monk  had  ordered  this  spot  to  be  guarded, 
as  most  subject  to  surprises.  The  fires  of  the  enemy’s 
general  were  plainly  to  be  perceived  on  the  other  side  of 
the  abbey.  But  between  these  fires  and  the  abbey  ex- 
tended the  Tweed,  unfolding  its  luminous  scales  beneath 
the  thick  shade  of  tall  green  oaks.  Monk  was  perfectly 


HISTORICAL. 


225 


well  acquainted  with  this  position,  — Newcastle  and  its 
environs  having  already  more  than  once  been  his  head- 
quarters. He  knew  that  by  day  his  enemy  might  with- 
out doubt  throw  a few  scouts  into  these  ruins  and 
provoke  a skirmish,  but  that  by  night  he  would  take 
care  to  abstain  from  such  a risk.  He  felt  himself,  there- 
fore, in  security.  Thus  his  soldiers  saw  him,  after  what 
he  boastingly  called  his  supper,  — that  is  to  say,  after 
the  exercise  of  mastication  already  reported  by  us,  — 
like  Napoleon  on  the  eve  of  Austerlitz,  sleeping  seated 
in  his  rush  chair,  half  beneath  the  light  of  his  lamp, 
half  beneath  the  reflection  of  the  moon,  which  was  be- 
ginning its  ascent  into  the  heavens.  This  means  that 
it  was  nearly  half-past  nine  in  the  evening.  All  at 
once  Monk  was  roused  from  his  half-sleep,  factitious 
perhaps,  by  a troop  of  soldiers,  who  came  with  joyous 
cries,  and  kicked  the  poles  of  his  tent,  making  a con- 
fusion of  noises  as  if  on  purpose  to  wake  him.  There 
was  no  need  of  so  much  noise ; the  general  opened  his 
eyes  quickly. 

“ Well,  my  children,  what  is  going  on  now  V9  asked  the 
general. 

“ General ! ” replied  several  voices  at  once,  “ General ! 
you  shall  have  some  supper.” 

“ I have  had  my  supper,  gentlemen,”  replied  he,  quietly, 
“ and  was  comfortably  digesting  it,  as  you  see.  But  come 
in,  and  tell  me  what  brings  you  hither.” 

“ Good  news,  General.” 

“ Bah  ! Has  Lambert  sent  us  word  that  he  will  fight 
to-morrow  ? ” 

“No;  but  we  have  just  captured  a fishing-boat  con- 
veying fish  to  Newcastle.” 

“ And  you  have  done  very  wrong,  my  friends.  These 
gentlemen  from  London  are  delicate,  they  are  engaged  in 
VOL.  i.  — 15 


226 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


their  first  service ; you  will  put  them  sadly  ouPof  humor 
this  evening,  and  to-morrow  they  will  be  pitiless.  It 
would  really  be  in  good  taste  to  send  back  to  Lambert 
both  his  fish  and  his  fishermen,  unless  — ” and  the 
general  reflected  an  instant. 

“ Tell  me,”  continued  he,  “ what  are  these  fishermen, 
if  you  please  ^ ” 

“ Some  Picard  seamen  who  were  fishing  on  the  coasts 
of  France  or  Holland,  and  who  have  been  thrown  upon 
ours  by  a gale  of  wTind.” 

“ Do  any  among  them  speak  our  language  ” 

“ The  leader  spoke  some  few  words  of  English.” 

The  mistrust  of  the  general  was  awakened  in  propor- 
tion to  the  information  given  him.  “That,  is  well,”  said 
he,  “ I wish  to  see  these  men  ; bring  them  to  me.” 

An  officer  immediately  went  to  fetch  them. 

“ How  many  are  there  of  them  ? ” continued  Monk ; 
“ and  what  is  their  vessel  ? ” 

“ There  are  ten  or  twelve  of  them,  General,  and  they 
were  aboard  a kind  of  lugger,  as  they  call  it,  — Dutch- 
built,  apparently.” 

“ And  you  say  they  were  carrying  fish  to  Lambert’s 
camp  ^ ” 

“ Yes,  General,  and  they  seem  to  have  had  good  luck 
in  their  fishing.” 

“ Humph  ! We  shall  see  that,”  said  Monk. 

At  this  moment  the  officer  returned,  bringing  the 
leader  of  the  fishermen  with  him.  He  was  a man  from 
fifty  to  fifty-five  years  old,  but  good-looking  for  his  age. 
He  was  of  middle  height,  and  wore  a close-fitting  coat 
of  coarse  wool,  and  a cap  pulled  down  over  his  eyes ; a 
cutlass  hung  from  his  belt,  and  he  walked  with  the  hesi- 
tation peculiar  to  sailors,  who,  never  knowing,  thanks  to 
the  movement  of  the  vessel,  whether  their  foot  will  be 


HISTORICAL. 


227 


placed  upon  the  plank  or  upon  nothing,  give  to  every  one 
of  their  steps  a fall  as  firm  as  if  they  were  driving  a pile. 
Monk,  with  an  acute  and  penetrating  look,  examined  the 
fisherman  for  some  time,  while  the  latter  smiled,  with 
that  smile,  half  cunning,  half  silly,  peculiar  to  French 
peasants. 

“Do  you  speak  English V’  asked  Monk,  in  excellent 
French. 

“Ah  ! but  badly,  my  Lord,”  replied  the  fisherman. 

This  reply  was  made  with  the  lively  and  sharp  accent- 
uation of  the  people  beyond  the  Loire,  rather  than  with 
the  slightly  drawling  accent  of  the  countries  on  the  west 
and  north  of  France. 

“ But  you  do  speak  it  ” persisted  Monk,  in  order  to 
examine  this  accent  once  more. 

“ Eh ! we  men  of  the  sea,”  replied  the  fisherman, 
“'speak  a little  of  all  languages.” 

“ Then  you  are  a sea- fisherman  % ” 

“ I am  at  present,  my  Lord,  — a fisherman,  and  a famous 
fisherman  too.  I have  taken  a barbel  that  weighs  at  least 
thirty  pounds,  and  more  than  fifty  mullets ; I have  also 
some  little  whitings  that  will  fry  beautifully.” 

“ You  appear  to  me  to  have  fished  more  frequently  in 
the  Gulf  of  Gascony  than  in  the  Channel,”  said  Monk, 
smiling. 

“Well,  I am  from  the  south;  but  does  that  prevent 
me  from  being  a good  fisherman,  my  Lord  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! not  at  all ; I will  buy  your  fish.  And  now 
speak  frankly:  for  whom  did  you  destine  them'?” 

“ My  Lord,  I will  conceal  nothing  from  you.  I was 
going  to  Newcastle,  following  the  coast,  when  a party  of 
horsemen  who  were  passing  along  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion made  a sign  to  my  bark  to  turn  back  to  your 
Honor’s  camp,  under  penalty  of  a discharge  of  musketry* 


228 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


As  I was  not  armed  for  fighting,”  added  the  fisherman, 
smiling,  “ I was  forced  to  submit.” 

“ And  why  did  you  go  to  Lambert’s  camp  in  preference 
to  mine  1 ” 

“ My  Lord,  I will  be  frank ; will  your  Lordship  permit 
me  h ” 

“ Yes,  and  even,  if  there  be  occasion,  shall  command 
you  to  be  so.” 

“ Well,  my  Lord,  I was  going  to  M.  Lambert’s  camp 
because  those  gentlemen  from  the  city  pay  well ; while 
your  Scotchmen,  Puritans,  Presbyterians,  Covenanters,  or 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  them,  eat  but  little,  and  pay 
for  nothing.” 

Monk  shrugged  his  shoulders,  without,  however,  being 
able  to  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  same  time.  “How  is 
it  that,  being  from  the  south,  you  come  to  fish  on  our 
coasts  ] ” 

“ Because  I have  been  fool  enough  to  marry  in  Picardy.” 

“Yes;  but  even  Picardy  is  not  England.” 

“ My  Lord,  man  shoves  his  boat  into  the  sea,  but  God 
and  the  wind  do  the  rest,  and  drive  the  boat  where  they 
please.” 

“ You  had,  then,  no  intention  of  landing  on  our  coasts  ? ” 

“ Never.” 

“And  what  route  were  you  steering'?” 

“We  were  returning  from  Ostend,  where  some  mack- 
erel have,  been  seen  already,  when  a sharp  wind  from  the 
south  drove  us  from  our  course ; then,  seeing  that  it  was 
useless  to  struggle  against  it,  we  let  it  drive  us.  It  then 
became  necessary,  not  to  lose  our  haul  of  fish,  which  was 
large,  to  go  and  sell  them  at  the  nearest  English  port, 
and  that  was  Newcastle.  We  were  told  the  opportunity 
was  good,  as  there  was  an  increase  of  population  in  the 
camp,  an  increase  of  population  in  the  city;  both  we 


HISTORICAL. 


229 


were  told  were  full  of  gentlemen,  very  rich  and  very 
hungry.  So  we  steered  our  course  towards  Newcastle.” 

“And  your  companions,  where  are  they'?” 

“ Oh  ! my  companions  have  remained  on  board ; they 
are  sailors  without  the  least  education.” 

“ While  you  — ” said  Monk. 

“Oh!  I,”  said  the  patron,  laughing,  — “I  have  sailed 
about  with  my  father;  and  I know  what  a sou,  a crown, 
a pistole,  a louis,  and  a double-louis  is  called  in  all  the 
languages  of  Europe  : my  crew  therefore  listen  to  me  as 
they  would  to  an  oracle,  and  obey  me  as  if  I were  an 
admiral.” 

“ Then  it  was  you  who  preferred  M.  Lambert  as  the 
best  customer'?” 

“Yes,  certainly.  And,  to  be  frank,  my  Lord,  was  I 
wrong  1 ” 

“ You  will  see  that  by  and  by.” 

“ At  all  events,  my  Lord,  if  there  is  a fault,  the  fault  is 
mine ; and  my  comrades  should  not  be  dealt  hardly  with 
on  that  account.” 

“ This  is  decidedly  an  intelligent,  sharp  fellow,”  thought 
Monk.  Then,  after  a few  minutes,  silence  employed  in 
scrutinizing  the  fisherman,  “You  come  from  Ostend,  did 
you  not  say  *?  ” asked  the  general. 

“ Yes,  my  Lord,  straight  as  a line.” 

“ You  have  then  heard  some  mention  of  the  affairs  of 
the  day ; for  I have  no  doubt  that  both  in  France  and 
Holland  they  excite  interest.  What  is  he  doing  who  calls 
himself  King  of  England  1 ” 

“ Oh,  my  Lord  ! v cried  the  fisherman,  with  loud  and 
expansive  frankness,  “ that  is  a lucky  question,  and  you 
could  not  put  it  to  anybody  better  than  to  me,  for  in 
truth  I can  make  you  a famous  reply.  Imagine,  my  Lord, 
that  when  putting  into  Ostend,  to  sell  the  few  mackerel 


230 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


we  had  caught,  I saw  the  ex-king  walking  on  the  dunes, 
waiting  for  his  horses  which  were  to  take  him  to  the 
Hague.  He  is  a rather  tall,  pale  man,  with  black  hair, 
and  somewhat  hard-featured.  He  looks  ill,  and  I don’t 
think  the  air  of  Holland  agrees  with  him.” 

Monk  followed  with  the  greatest  attention  the  rapid, 
heightened,  and  diffuse  conversation  of  the  fisherman,  in 
a language  which  was  not  his  own,  but  which,  as  we  have 
said,  he  spoke  with  great  facility.  The  fisherman,  on  his 
part,  employed  sometimes  a French  word,  sometimes  an 
English  word,  and  sometimes  a word  which  appeared  not 
to  belong  to  any  language,  but  was,  in  truth,  pure  Gascon. 
Fortunately  his  eyes  spoke  for  him,  and  that  so  eloquently, 
that  it  was  possible  to  lose  a word  from  his  mouth,  but 
not  a single  intention  from  his  eyes.  The  general  appeared 
more  and  more  satisfied  with  his  examination.  “You 
must  have  heard  that  this  ex-king,  as  you  call  him,  was 
going  to  the  Hague  for  some  purpose  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  certainly,”  said  the  fisherman,  “ I heard  that.” 
“ And  what  was  his  purpose  *?  ” 

“ Always  the  same,”  said  the  fisherman.  “ Must  he  not 
always  entertain  the  fixed  idea  of  returning  to  England'?” 
“That  is  true,”  said  Monk,  pensively. 

“Without  reckoning,”  added  the  fisherman,  “that  the 
stadtholder  — you  know,  my  Lord,  William  II.'? — ” 

“ Well  1 ” 

“ He  will  assist  him  with  all  his  power.” 

“ Ah  ! did  you  hear  that  said  *?  ” 

“ No,  but  I think  so.” 

“You  are  quite  a politician,  apparently,”  said  Monk. 
“Why,  we  sailors,  my  Lord,  who  are  accustomed  to 
study  the  water  and  the  air  — that  is  to  say,  the  two 
most  mobile  things  in  the  world  — are  seldom  deceived 
as  to  the  rest.” 


HISTORICAL. 


231 


“Now,  then,”  said  Monk,  changing  the  conversation, 
“ I am  told  you  are  going  to  provision  us.,, 

“ I will  do  my  best,  my  Lord.” 

“ How  much  do  you  ask  for  your  fish,  in  the  first  place  % ” 
“Not  such  a fool  as  to  name  a price,  my  Lord.” 

“Why  not  1 ” 

“ Because  my  fish  is  yours.” 

“ By  what  right  ? ” 

“ By  that  of  the  strongest.” 

“ But  my  intention  is  to  pay  you  for  it.” 

“ That  is  very  generous  of  you,  my  Lord.” 

“ And  to  their  full  value — ” 

“ My  Lord,  I do  not  ask  it.” 

“ What  do  you  ask,  then  ^ ” 

“ I only  ask  to  be  permitted  to  go  away.” 

“ Where  h — to  General  Lambert’s  camp  1 ” 

“I ! ” cried  the  fisherman ; “ what  should  I go  to  New- 
castle for,  now  I have  no  longer  any  fish  h ” 

“At  all  events,  listen  to  me.” 

“ I do,  my  Lord.” 

“ I will  give  you  counsel.” 

“ How,  my  Lord  1 — pay  me  and  give  me  good  counsel 
likewise  ? You  overwhelm  me,  my  Lord.” 

Monk  looked  more  earnestly  than  ever  at  the  fisherman, 
of  whom  he  still  appeared  to  entertain  some  suspicion. 
“Yes,  I will  pay  you,  and  give  you  a piece  of  advice; 
for  the  two  things  are  connected.  If  you  return,  then,  to 
General  Lambert  — ” 

The  fisherman  made  a movement  of  his  head  and 
shoulders,  which  signified,  “If  he  persist  in  it,  I won’t 
contradict  him.” 

“ Do  not  cross  the  marsh,”  continued  Monk  ; “ you  will 
have  money  in  your  pocket,  and  there  are  in  the  marsh 
some  Scotch  ambuscaders  I have  placed  there.  Those 


232 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


people  are  very  intractable ; they  understand  but  very 
little  of  the  language  which  you  speak,  although  it  ap- 
pears to  me  to  be  composed  of  three  languages.  They 
might  take  from  you  what  I had  given  you,  and  on  your 
return  to  your  country  you  would  not-  fail  to  say  that 
General  Monk  has  two  hands,  the  one  Scotch,  and  the 
other  English  ; and  that  he  takes  back  with  the  Scotch 
hand  what  he  has  given  with  the  English  hand.” 

“ Oh,  General,  I will  go  where  you  like,  be  sure  of 
that,”  said  the  fisherman,  with  a fear  too  expressive  not 
to  be  exaggerated.  “ I only  wish  to  remain  here,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  remain.” 

“ I readily  believe  you,”  said  Monk,  with  an  impercep- 
tible smile,  “ but  I cannot,  nevertheless,  keep  you  in  my 
tent.” 

“ I have  no  such  wish,  my  Lord,  and  desire  only  that 
your  Lordship  should  point  out  where  you  will  have  me 
posted.  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  us,  — with  us 
a night  soon  passes  away.” 

“ You  shall  be  conducted  to  your  boat.” 

“As  your  Lordship  pleases.  Only,  if  your  Lordship 
would  allow  me  to  be  taken  back  by  a carpenter,  I should 
be  extremely  grateful.” 

“Why  so?” 

“ Because  the  gentlemen  of  your  army,  in  dragging 
my  boat  up  the  river  with  a cable  pulled  by  their  horses, 
have  battered  it  a little  upon  the  rocks  of  the  shore,  so 
that  I have  at  least  two  feet  of  water  in  my  hold,  my 
Lord.” 

“ The  greater  reason  why  you  should  watch  your  boat, 
I think.” 

“ My  Lord,  I am  quite  at  your  orders,”  said  the  fisher- 
man. “I  will  empty  my  baskets  where  you  wish;  then 
you  will  pay  me,  if  you  please  to  do  so ; and  you  will 


HISTORICAL. 


233 


send  me  away,  if  it  appears  right  to  you.  You  see  I am 
very  easily  managed,  my  Lord.” 

“ Come,  come,  you  are  a very  good  sort  of  a fellow,” 
said  Monk,  whose  scrutinizing  glance  had  not  been  able 
to  find  a single  shade  in  the  limpid  eye  of  the  fisherman. 
“Holloa,  Digby  ! ” An  aide-de-camp  appeared.  “You 
will  conduct  this  good  fellow  and  his  companions  to  the 
little  tents  of  the  canteens,  in  front  of  the  marshes,  so 
that  they  will  be  near  their  bark,  and  yet  not  sleep  on 
board  to-night.  What  is  the  matter,  Spithead  1 ” 

Spithead  was  the  sergeant  from  whom  Monk  had  bor- 
rowed a piece  of  tobacco  for  his  supper.  Spithead  having- 
entered  the  general’s  tent  without  being  sent  for,  had 
drawn  this  question  from  Monk. 

“My  Lord,”  said  he,  “a  French  gentleman  has  just 
presented  himself  at  the  outposts,  and  asks  to  speak  to 
your  Honor.” 

All  this  was  said,  be  it  understood,  in  English  ; but, 
notwithstanding,  it  produced  a slight  emotion  on  the 
fisherman,  which  Monk,  occupied  with  his  sergeant,  did 
not  remark. 

“ Who  is  the  gentleman  ? ” asked  Monk. 

“ My  Lord,”  replied  Spithead,  “ he  told  it  me  ; but  those 
devils  of  French  names  are  so  difficult  to  be  pronounced 
by  a Scotch  throat,  that  I could  not  retain  it.  I believe, 
however,  from  what  the  guards  say,  that  it  is  the  same 
gentleman  who  presented  himself  yesterday  at  the  halt, 
and  whom  your  Honor  would  not  receive.” 

“ That  is  true  ; I was  holding  a council  of  officers.” 
“Will  your  Honor  give  any  orders  respecting  this 
gentleman  ? ” 

“Yes,  let  him  be  brought  here.” 

“ Must  we  take  any  precautions  1 ” 

“ Such  as  what  1 ” 


234 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Binding  his  eyes,  for  instance.” 

“ To  what  purpose  h He  can  only  see  what  I desire 
should  be  seen  ; that  is  to  say,  that  I have  around  me 
eleven  thousand  brave  men,  who  ask  no  better  than  to 
have  their  throats  cut  in  honor  of  the  Parliament  of 
Scotland  and  England.” 

“ And  this  man,  my  Lord  1 ” said  Spithead,  pointing 
to  the  fisherman,  who  during  this  conversation  had 
remained  standing  and  motionless,  like  a man  who  sees 
but  does  not  understand. 

“ Ah  ! that  is  true,”  said  Monk.  Then  turning  towards 
the  fisherman,  “ I shall  see  you  again,  my  brave  fellow,” 
said  he  ; “ I have  chosen  you  a lodging.  Digby,  take  him 
to  it.  Fear  nothing  ; your  money  shall  he  sent  to  you 
presently.” 

“ Thank  you,  my  Lord,”  said  the  fisherman ; and  after 
having  bowed,  he  left  the  tent,  accompanied  by  Digby. 
Before  he  had  gone  a hundred  paces  he  found  his  com- 
panions, who  were  chattering  with  a volubility  which  did 
not  seem  exempt  from  inquietude  ; but  he  made  them 
a sign  which  seemed  to  reassure  them.  “ Holloa,  you 
fellows!”  said  the  master,  u come  this  way.  His  Lord- 
ship,  General  Monk,  has  the  generosity  to  pay  us  for 
our  fish,  and  the  goodness  to  give  us  hospitality  for 
to-night.” 

The  fishermen  gathered  round  their  leader ; and,  con- 
ducted by  Digby,  the  little  troop  proceeded  towards  the 
canteens,  — the  post,  as  may  be  remembered,  which  had 
been  assigned  them.  As  they  went  along  in  the  dark, 
the  fishermen  passed  close  to  the  guards  who  were  con- 
ducting the  French  gentleman  to  General  Monk.  This 
gentleman  was  on  horseback  and  enveloped  in  a large 
cloak,  which  prevented  the  master  from  seeing  him,  how- 
ever great  his  curiosity  might  be.  As  to  the  gentleman. 


HISTORICAL. 


235 


ignorant  that  he  was  elbowing  compatriots,  he  did  not 
pay  any  attention  to  the  little  troop. 

The  aide-de-camp  installed  his  guests  in  a tolerably 
comfortable  tent,  from  which  was  dislodged  an  Irish 
canteen-woman,  who  went,  with  her  six  children,  to  sleep 
where  she  could.  A large  fire  was  burning  in  front  of 
this  tent,  and  threw  its  purple  light  over  the  grassy  pools 
of  the  marsh,  rippled  by  a fresh  breeze.  The  installation 
made,  the  aide-de-camp  wished  the  fishermen  good-night, 
calling  to  their  notice  that  they  might  see  from  the  door 
of  the  tent  the  masts  of  their  boat,  which  was  tossing 
gently  on  the  Tweed,  — a proof  that  it  had  not  yet  sunk. 
The  sight  of  this  appeared  to  delight  the  leader  of  the 
fishermen  infinitely. 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


2 3fi 


CHAPTER  XXIY. 

THE  TREASURE. 

The  French  gentleman  whom  Spithead  had  announced 
to  Monk,  and  who  had  passed,  so  closely  wrapped  in  his 
cloak,  by  the  fisherman  who  left  the  general’s  tent  five 
minutes  before  he  entered  it,  — the  French  gentleman 
passed  through  the  various  posts  without  even  casting 
yiis  eyes  around  him,  for  fear  of  appearing  indiscreet.  As 
the  order  had  been  given,  he  was  conducted  to  the  tent 
uf  the  general.  The  gentleman  was  left  alone  in  the  sort 
of  antechamber  in  front  of  the  principal  body  of  the  tent, 
where  he  awaited  Monk,  who  only  delayed  till  he  had 
Beard  the  report  of  his  people,  and  observed  through  the 
opening  in  the  canvas  the  countenance  of  the  person  who 
solicited  an  audience.  Without  doubt  the  report  of  those 
who  had  accompanied  the  French  gentleman  emphasized 
the  discretion  with  which  he  had  conducted  himself  y for 
the  first  impression  the  stranger  received  of  the  welcome 
made  him  by  the  general  was  more  favorable  than  he 
could  have  expected  at  such  a moment,  and  on  the  part 
of  so  suspicious  a man.  Nevertheless,  according  to  his 
custom  when  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a 
stranger,  Monk  fixed  upon  him  his  penetrating  eyes, 
which  scrutiny  the  stranger,  on  his  part,  sustained 
without  embarrassment  or  notice.  At  the  end  of  a few 
seconds  the  general  made  a gesture  with  his  hand  and 
head  in  sign  of  attention. 


THE  TREASURE. 


237 


“ My  Lord,”  said  the  gentleman,  in  excellent  English, 
“ I have  requested  an  interview  with  your  Honor,  for  an 
affair  of  importance.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Monk,  in  French,  “ you  speak  our 
language  well  for  a son  of  the  Continent.  I ask  your 
pardon,  — for  doubtless  the  question  is  indiscreet,  — do 
you  speak  French  with  the  same  purity  V’ 

“ There  is  nothing  surprising,  my  Lord,  in  my  speaking 
English  tolerably  ; I resided  for  some  time  in  England  in 
my  youth,  and  since  then  I have  made  two  voyages  to 
this  country.”  These  words  were  spoken  in  French,  and 
with  a purity  of  accent  that  bespoke  not  only  a French- 
man, but  a Frenchman  from  the  environs  of  Tours. 

“And  what  part  of  England  have  you  resided  in, 
Monsieur  ] ” 

“In  my  youth,  London,  my  Lord;  then,  about  1635, 
I made  a pleasure  trip  to  Scotland;  and  lastly,  in  1648, 
I lived  for  some  time  at  Newcastle,  particularly  in  the 
convent,  the  gardens  of  which  are  now  occupied  by  your 
army.” 

“Excuse  me,  Monsieur;  but  you  must  comprehend 
that  these  questions  are  necessary  on  my  part,  do  you 
not  1 ” 

“ It  would  astonish  me,  my  Lord,  if  they  were  not 
made.” 

“Now,  then,  Monsieur,  what  can  I do  to  serve  you  1 
What  do  you  desire  of  me  1 ” 

“ This,  my  Lord,  — but  in  the  first  place,  are  we 
alone  1 ” 

“Perfectly  so,  Monsieur,  except,  of  course,  the  post 
which  guards  us.”  So  saying,  Monk  pulled  open  the 
canvas  with  his  hand,  and  pointed  to  the  soldier  who  was 
placed  at  ten  paces  from  the  tent,  and  who  at  the  first 
call  could  have  rendered  assistance  in  a second. 


238 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ In  that  case,  my  Lord,”  said  the  gentleman,  in  as 
calm  a tone  as  if  he  had  been  for  a length  of  time  in 
habits  of  intimacy  with  his  interlocutor,  “ I have  made 
up  my  mind  to  address  myself  to  you,  because  I believe 
you  to  be  an  honest  man.  Indeed,  the  communication 
I am  about  to  make  to  you  will  prove  to  you  the  esteem 
in  which  I hold  you.” 

Monk,  astonished  at  this  language,  which  established 
between  him  and  the  French  gentleman  equality  at  least, 
raised  his  piercing  eye  to  the  stranger’s  face,  and  with 
a sensible  irony  conveyed  by  the  inflection  of  his  voice 
alone,  — for  not  a muscle  of  his  face  moved,  — “I  thank 
you,  Monsieur,”  said  he;  “ but,  in  the  first  place,  to  whom 
have  I the  honor  of  speaking  ? ” 

“ I sent  you  my  name  by  your  sergeant,  my  Lord.” 

“ Excuse  him,  Monsieur,  he  is  a Scotchman,  — he  could 
not  retain  it.” 

“ I am  called  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  Monsieur,”  said 
Athos,  bowing. 

“ The  Comte  de  la  Fere  'l  ” said  Monk,  endeavoring  to 
recollect  the  name.  “ Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  but  this 
appears  to  be  the  first  time  I have  ever  heard  that  name. 
Do  you  fill  any  post  at  the  court  of  France  ? ” 

“ None  ; I am  a simple  gentleman.” 

“ What  dignity  ? ” 

“ King  Charles  I.  made  me  a knight  of  the  Garter,  and 
Queen  Anne  of  Austria  has  given  me  the  cordon  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  These  are  my  only  dignities.” 

“The  Garter!  the  Holy  Ghost!  Are  you  a knight  of 
those  two  orders,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  on  what  occasions  have  such  favors  been  bestowed 
upon  you  ? ” 

“ For  services  rendered  to  their  Majesties.” 


THE  TREASURE. 


239 


Monk  looked  with  astonishment  at  this  man,  who  ap- 
peared to  him  so  simple  and  at  the  game  time  so  grand. 
Then,  as  if  he  had  renounced  endeavoring  to  penetrate 
this  mystery  of  a simplicity  and  grandeur  upon  which  the 
stranger  did  not  seem  disposed  to  give  him  any  other  in- 
formation than  that  which  he  had  already  received,  — 
“ It  was  you,”  he  said,  “ who  presented  yourself  yesterday 
at  our  advanced  posts'?” 

“And  was  sent  back, — yes,  my  Lord.” 

“ Many  officers,  Monsieur,  would  not  permit  anybody 
to  enter  their  camp,  particularly  on  the  eve  of  a probable 
battle.  But  I differ  from  my  colleagues,  and  like  to  leave 
nothing  behind  me.  Every  piece  of  intelligence  is  good 
to  me  : all  danger  is  sent  to  me  by  God,  and  I weigh  it 
in  my  hand  with  the  energy  he  has  given  me.  So, 
yesterday,  you  were  sent  back  because  I was  holding 
a council.  To-day  I am  at  liberty, — speak.” 

“ My  Lord,  you  have  done  the  better  in  receiving  me, 
since  what  I have  to  say  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  battle 
you  are  about  to  fight  with  General  Lambert,  or  with 
your  camp  ; and  the  proof  is,  that  I turned  away  my 
head  that  I might  not  see  your  men,  and  closed  my  eyes 
that  I might  not  count  your  tents.  No,  I come  to  speak 
to  you,  my  Lord,  on  my  own  account.” 

“ Speak,  then,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk. 

“Just  now,”  continued  Athos,  “I  had  the  honor  of 
telling  your  Lordship  that  I for  a long  time  lived  in 
Newcastle ; it  was  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  and  when 
the  late  king  was  given  up  to  Cromwell  by  the  Scots.” 

“ I know,”  said  Monk,  coldly. 

“ I had  at  that  time  a large  sum  in  gold,  and  on  the 
eve  of  the  battle,  from  a presentiment,  perhaps,  of  the 
turn  which  things  would  take  on  the  morrow,  I concealed 
it  in  the  principal  vault  of  the  convent  of  Newcastle,  in 


240 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  tower  the  summit  of  which  you  may  see  from  here 
silvered  by  the  moon.  My  treasure  has,  then,  remained 
interred  there,  and  I have  come  to  entreat  your  Honor  to 
permit  me  to  withdraw  it  before,  perhaps,  the  battle 
turning  that  way,  a mine  or  some  other  enterprise  of 
war  may  destroy  the  building  and  scatter  my  gold,  or 
render  it  so  exposed  to  view  that  the  soldiers  will  take 
possession  of  it.” 

Monk  was  well  acquainted  with  mankind  ; he  saw  in 
the  physiognomy  of  this  gentleman  all  the  energy,  all  the 
reason,  all  the  circumspection  possible ; he  could  there- 
fore only  attribute  to  a magnanimous  confidence  the 
revelation  the  Frenchman  had  made  him,  and  he  showed 
himself  profoundly  touched  by  it. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “you  have  augured  justly  by  me. 
But  is  the  sum  worth  the  trouble  to  which  you  expose 
yourself]  Do  you  even  believe  that  it  can  be  in  the 
place  where  you  left  it  ? ” 

“ It  is  there,  Monsieur,  I do  not  doubt.” 

“That  is  a reply  to  one  question;  but  to  the  other. 
I asked  you  if  the  sum  were  so  large  as  to  lead  you  to 
expose  yourself  thus.” 

“It  is  really  large ; yes,  my  Lord,  for  it  is  a million  I 
enclosed  in  two  casks.” 

“ A million ! ” cried  Monk,  whom  this  time,  in  his  turn, 
Athos  looked  at  earnestly  and  long.  Monk  perceived 
this,  and  his  mistrust  returned. 

“ Here  is  a man,”  thought  he,  “ who  is  laying  a snare  for 
me.  — So  you  wish  to  withdraw  this  money,  Monsieur,” 
replied  he,  “ as  I understand  1 ” 

“If  you  please,  my  Lord.” 

“To-day?” 

“ This  very  evening,  and  that  on  account  of  the  circum- 
stances I have  named.” 


THE  TREASURE. 


241 


“But,  Monsieur,”  objected  Monk,  “General  Lambert 
is  as  near  the  abbey  where  you  have  to  act  as  I am. 
Why,  then,  have  you  not  addressed  yourself  to  him'?” 

“ Because,  my  Lord,  when  one  acts  in  important  matters, 
it  is  best  to  consult  one’s  instinct  before  everything. 
Well,  General  Lambert  does  not  inspire  me  with  so  much 
confidence  as  you  do.” 

“ Be  it  so,  Monsieur.  I will  assist  you  in  recovering 
your  money,  if  indeed  it  can  still  be  there ; for  that  is 
far  from  likely.  Since  1648  twelve  years  have  rolled 
away,  and  many  events  have  taken  place.”  Monk  dwelt 
upon  this  point,  to  see  if  the  French  gentleman  would 
seize  the  evasions  that  were  open  to  him ; but  Athos  was 
inflexible. 

“ I assure  you,  my  Lord,”  he  said  firmly,  “that  my  con- 
viction is  that  the  two  casks  have  changed  neither  place 
nor  master.” 

This  reply  removed  one  suspicion  from  the  mind  of 
Monk,  but  it  suggested  another.  Without  doubt  this 
Frenchman  was  some  emissary  sent  to  entice  into  error 
the  protector  of  the  Parliament ; the  gold  was  nothing  but 
a lure,  and  by  the  help  of  this  they  thought  to  excite  the 
cupidity  of  the  general.  This  gold  might  not  exist.  It 
was  Monk’s  business,  then,  to  seize  in  the  fact  of  false- 
hood and  trick  the  French  gentleman,  and  to  draw  from 
the  false  step  itself  in  which  his  enemies  wished  to  entrap 
him,  a triumph  for  his  renown.  When  Monk  was  deter- 
mined how  to  act,  — 

“Monsieur,”  said  he  to  Athos,  “ will  you  do  me  the 
honor  to  share  my  supper  this  evening  ? ” 

“Yes,  my  Lord,”  replied  Athos,  bowing;  “for  you  do 
me  an  honor  of  which  I feel  myself  wrorthy,  by  the  incli- 
nation which  drew  me  towards  you.” 

“It  is  the  more  gracious  on  your  part  to  accept  my 
VOL.  Io — 16 


242 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


invitation  with  such  frankness,  because  my  cooks  are  but 
few  and  inexpert,  and  my  providers  have  returned  this 
evening  empty-handed ; so  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  a 
fisherman  of  your  nation  who  strayed  into  our  camp, 
General  Monk  would  have  gone  to  bed  without  his  supper 
to-day.  I have  then  some  fresh  fish  to  offer  you,  as  the 
vender  assures  me.” 

“ My  Lord,  it  is  principally  for  the  sake  of  having  the 
honor  to  pass  an  hour  more  with  you.” 

After  this  exchange  of  civilities,  during  which  Monk 
had  lost  nothing  of  his  circumspection,  the  supper,  or 
that  which  was  to  serve  for  one,  had  been  laid  upon  a 
pine  table.  Monk  made  a sign  to  the  Comte  de  la  Fere 
to  be  seated  at  this  table,  and  took  his  place  opposite  to 
him.  A single  dish  filled  with  boiled  fish,  set  before  the 
two  illustrious  guests,  promised  more  to  hungry  stomachs 
than  to  delicate  palates.  While  supping,  — that  is,  while 
eating  the  fish,  washed  down  with  bad  ale,  — Monk  got 
Athos  to  recount  to  him  the  last  events  of  the  Fronde, 
the  reconciliation  of  M.  de  Conde  with  the  king,  and  the 
probable  marriage  of  the  king  with  the  Infanta  of  Spain ; 
but  he  avoided,  as  Athos  himself  avoided,  all  allusion  to 
the  political  interests  which  united,  or  rather  which  dis- 
united at  this  time,  England,  France,  and  Holland. 
Monk  in  this  conversation  convinced  himself  of  one 
thing,  which  he  must  have  remarked  at  the  first  words 
exchanged, — -that  was,  that  he  had  to  do  with  a man  of 
high  distinction.  Such  a man  could  not  be  an  assassin, 
and  it  was  repugnant  to  Monk  to  believe  him  to  be  a 
spy;  but  there  was  sufficient  subtlety  as  well  as  firmness 
in  Athos  to  lead  Monk  to  fancy  that  he  was  a conspirator. 
When  they  had  quitted  table,  — 

“You  still  believe  in  your  treasure,  then,  Monsieur?” 
asked  Monk. 


THE  TREASURE. 


243 


“Yes,  my  Lord.” 

“ Seriously.  ” 

“ Quite  seriously.” 

“ And  you  think  you  can  find  again  the  place  where  it 
was  buried  1 ” 

“At  the  first  inspection.” 

“Well,  Monsieur,  from  curiosity  I will  accompany  you. 
And  it  is  the  more  necessary  that  I should  do  so,  since 
you  would  find  great  difficulty  in  passing  through  the 
camp  without  me  or  one  of  my  lieutenants.” 

“ General,  I would  not  suffer  you  to  inconvenience 
yourself  if  I did  not,  in  fact,  stand  in  need  of  your  com- 
pany ; but  as  I recognize  that  this  company  is  not  only 
honorable,  but  necessary,  I accept  it.” 

“ Do  you  desire  that  we  should  take  any  people  with 
usk”  asked  Monk. 

“ General,  I believe  that  would  be  useless,  if  you  your- 
self do  not  see  the  necessity  for  it.  Two  men  and  a horse 
will  suffice  to  transport  two  casks  on  board  the  felucca 
which  brought  me  hither.” 

“ But  it  will  be  necessary  to  pick,  dig,  and  remove  the 
earth,  and  split  stones ; you  don’t  reckon  upon  doing  this 
work  yourself,  Monsieur,  do  you  1 ” 

“ General,  there  is  no  picking  or  digging  required. 
The  treasure  is  buried  in  the  sepulchral  vault  of  the  con- 
vent, under  a stone  in  which  is  fixed  a large  iron  ring, 
and  under  that  a little  stair  of  four  steps  opens.  The 
two  casks  are  there,  placed  end  to  end,  covered  with  a 
coat  of  plaster  in  the  form  of  a bier.  There  is,  besides,  an 
inscription,  which  will  enable  me  to  recognize  the  stone ; 
and  as  I am  not  willing,  in  an  affair  of  delicacy  and  con- 
fidence, to  keep  the  secret  from  your  Honor,  here  is  the 
inscription  : ‘ Hie  jacet  venerabilis,  Petrus  Guilielmus 

Scott,  Canon  Honorab.  Conventus  Novi  Castelli.  Obiit 


244 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


quarta  et  decima  die  Feb.  ann.  Dom.  MCCYIII.  Kequb 
escat  in  pace.’  ” 

Monk  did  not  lose  a single  word.  He  was  astonished 
either  at  the  marvellous  duplicity  of  this  man  and  the 
superior  style  in  which  he  played  his  part,  or  at  the  good 
loyal  faith  with  which  he  presented  his  request,  in  a situ- 
ation in  which  was  concerned  a million  of  money,  risked 
against  the  stab  of  a poniard,  amid  an  army  that  would 
have  considered  the  theft  as  a restitution.  “ That  is 
well/’  said  he ; “I  will  accompany  you ; and  the  adven- 
ture appears  to  me  so  wonderful  that  I will  carry  the 
flambeau  myself.”  And  saying  these  words,  he  girded  on 
a short  sword,  placed  a pistol  in  his  belt,  disclosing  in 
this  movement,  which  opened  his  doublet  a little,  the 
fine  rings  of  a coat  of  mail,  designed  to  protect  him 
against  the  first  poniard  stroke  of  an  assassin.  After 
which  he  took  a Scotch  dirk  in  his  left  hand,  and  then 
turning  to  Athos,  “ Are  you  ready,  Monsieur  ? ” said  he. 

“ I am.” 

Athos,  in  contrast  to  what  Monk  had  done,  unfastened 
his  poniard,  which  he  placed  upon  the  table ; unhooked 
his  sword-belt,  which  he  laid  close  to  his  poniard ; and 
without  affectation,  opening  his  doublet  as  if  to  seek 
his  handkerchief,  showed  beneath  his  fine  cambric  shirt 
his  naked  breast,  without  arms,  either  offensive  or 
defensive. 

“ This  is  truly  a singular  man,”  said  Monk ; “ he  is 
without  any  arms  ; he  has  an  ambuscade  placed  some- 
where yonder.” 

“ General,”  said  he,  as  if  he  had  divined  Monk’s  thought, 
“you  wish  we  should  be  alone.  That  is  right,  but  a great 
captain  ought  never  to  expose  himself  with  temerity.  It 
is  night,  the  passage  of  the  marsh  may  present  dangers ; 
take  others  with  you.” 


THE  TREASURE. 


245 


“You  are  right/’  replied  he,  calling  Digby.  The  aide- 
de-camp  appeared.  “Fifty  men  with  swords  and  mus- 
kets,” said  he,  looking  at  Athos. 

“ That  is  too  few  if  there  is  danger,  too  many  if  there 
is  not.” 

“ I will  go  alone,”  said  Monk.  “ Digby,  I want  nobody. 
Come,  Monsieur.” 


246 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

THE  MARCH. 

Athos  and  Monk  traversed,  in  going  from  the  camp 
towards  the  Tweed,  that  part  of  the  ground  which  Digby 
had  traversed  with  the  fisherman  coming  from  the  Tweed 
to  the  camp.  The  aspect  of  this  place,  and  the  changes 
man  had  wrought  in  it,  were  of  a nature  to  produce  a 
great  effect  upon  a lively  and  delicate  imagination  like 
that  of  Athos.  Athos  looked  at  nothing  but  these  deso- 
late spots ; Monk  looked  at  nothing  but  Athos,  — at 
Athos,  who,  with  his  eyes  sometimes  directed  towards 
heaven  and  sometimes  towards  the  earth,  sought,  thought, 
and  sighed.  Digby,  whom  the  last  orders  of  the  general, 
and  particularly  the  accent  with  which  he  had  given  them, 
had  at  first  a little  excited,  — Digby  followed  the  night- 
walkers  about  twenty  paces ; but  the  general  having 
turned  round  as  if  astonished  to  find  that  his  orders  had 
not  been  obeyed,  the  aide-de-camp  perceived  his  indiscre- 
tion, and  returned  to  his  tent.  He  supposed  that  the 
general  wished  to  make,  incognito,  one  of  those  vigilant 
inspections  which  every  experienced  captain  invariably 
makes  on  the  eve  of  a decisive  engagement ; he  ex- 
plained to  himself  the  presence  of  Athos  in  this  case  as 

an  inferior  explains  ail  that  is  mysterious  on  the  part  of 

his  leader.  Athos  might  be,  and  indeed  in  the  eyes  of 

Digby  must  be,  a spy,  whose  information  was  to  enlighten 
the  general. 


THE  MARCH. 


247 


At  the  end  of  a walk  of  about  ten  minutes  among  the 
tents  and  the  posts,  which  were  closer  together  near  the 
headquarters,  Monk  entered  upon  a little  causeway  which 
diverged  into  three  branches.  That  on  the  left  led  to 
the  river;  that  in  the  middle  to  Newcastle  Abbey  on  the 
marsh  ; that  on  the  right  crossed  the  first  lines  of  Monk’s 
camp,  — that  is  to  say,  the  lines  nearest  to  Lambert’s 
army.  Beyond  the  river  was  an  advanced  post,  belong- 
ing to  Monk’s  army,  which  watched  the  enemy  ; it  was 
composed  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  Scots.  They  had 
swam  across  the  Tweed,  giving  the  alarm ; but  as  there 
was  no  bridge  at  that  spot,  and  as  Lambert’s  soldiers 
were  not  so  prompt  at  taking  to  the  water  as  Monk’s 
were,  the  latter  appeared  not  to  have  much  uneasiness 
on  that  side.  On  this  side  of  the  river,  at  about  five 
hundred  paces  from  the  old  abbey,  the  fishermen  had 
taken  up  their  abode  amid  a crowd  of  small  tents  raised 
by  the  soldiers  of  the  neighboring  clans,  who  had  with 
them  their  wives  and  children.  All  this  confusion,  seen 
by  the  moon’s  light,  presented  a striking  appearance ; 
the  half-shade  enlarged  every  detail ; and  the  light  — that 
flatterer  which  only  attaches  itself  to  the  polished  side  of 
things  — courted  upon  each  rusty  musket  the  point  still 
left  unspotted,  and  upon  every  rag  of  canvas  the  whitest 
and  least  sullied  part.  Monk  arrived,  then,  with  Athos, 
crossing  this  spot  illumined  by  a double  light,  the  silver 
splendor  of  the  moon  and  the  red  blaze  of  the  fires,  at 
the  meeting  of  the  three  causeways;  there  he  stopped, 
and  addressing  his  companion,  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ do 
you  know  your  road  1 ” 

“ General,  if  I am  not  mistaken,  the  middle  causeway 
leads  straight  to  the  abbey.” 

“ That  is  right ; but  we  shall  want  lights  to  guide  us 
in  the  vaults.”  Monk  turned  round. 


248 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Ah  ! Digby  has  followed  us,  it  appears,”  said  he.  “ So 
much  the  better ; he  will  procure  us  what  we  want.” 

“ Yes,  General,  there  is  a man  yonder  who  for  some 
time  has  been  walking  behind  us.” 

“ Digby!”  cried  Monk,  “Digby!  come  here,  if  you 
please.” 

But  instead  of  obeying,  the  shadow  made  a motion  of 
surprise,  and  retreating  instead  of  advancing,  bent  down 
and  disappeared  along  the  jetty  on  the  left,  directing  its 
course  towards  the  lodging  of  the  fishermen. 

“ It  appears  that  it  was  not  Digby,”  said  Monk. 

Both  had  followed  the  shadow  which  had  vanished. 
But  it  was  not  so  rare  a thing  for  a man  to  be  wandering 
about  at  eleven  o’clock  at  night,  in  a camp  in  which  are 
reposing  ten  or  eleven  thousand  men,  as  to  give  Monk 
and  Athos  any  alarm  at  that  sudden  disappearance. 

“ And  now,”  said  Monk,  “ since  we  must  have  a light, 
a lantern,  a torch,  something  by  which  we  may  see  where 
to  set  our  feet,  let  us  seek  this  light.” 

“ General,  the  first  soldier  we  meet  will  light  us.” 

“ No,”  said  Monk,  in  order  to  discover  if  there  were 
not  any  connivance  between  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  and 
the  fishermen,  — “ no,  I should  prefer  one  of  these  French 
sailors  who  came  this  evening  to  sell  me  their  fish.  They 
will  leave  to-morrow,  and  the  secret  will  be  better  kept 
by  them ; whereas,  if  a report  should  be  spread  in  the 
Scotch  army  that  treasures  are  to  be  found  in  the  Abbey 
of  Newcastle,  my  Highlanders  will  believe  there  is  a 
million  concealed  beneath  every  slab ; and  they  will  not 
leave  one  stone  upon  another  in  the  building.” 

“ Do  as  you  think  best,  General,”  replied  Athos,  in  so 
natural  a tone  of  voice  as  made  it  evident  that  soldier  or 
fisherman  was  the  same  to  him,  and  that  he  had  no 
preference. 


THE  MARCH. 


249 


Monk  approached  the  causeway  behind  which  had  dis- 
appeared the  person  he  had  taken  for  Digby,  and  met 
a patrol  who,  making  the  tour  of  the  tents,  was  going 
towards  headquarters ; he  was  stopped  with  his  com- 
panion, gave  the  password,  and  went  on.  A soldier, 
roused  by  the  noise,  unrolled  his  plaid,  and  looked  up 
to  see  what  was  going  forward.  “ Ask  him,”  said  Monk 
to  Athos,  “ where  the  fishermen  are  ; if  I were  to  speak  to 
him,  he  would  know  me.” 

Athos  went  up  to  the  soldier,  who  pointed  out  the  tent 
to  him  ; immediately  Monk  and  Athos  turned  towards  it. 
It  appeared  to  the  general  that  at  the  moment  they  came 
up,  a shadow,  like  that  they  had  already  seen,  glided  into 
this  tent ; but  on  drawing  nearer,  he  perceived  that  he 
must  have  been  mistaken,  for  all  of  them  were  asleep,  ly- 
ing confusedly,  and  nothing  was  seen  but  arms  and  legs 
interlaced.  Athos,  fearing  he  should  be  suspected  of 
connivance  with  some  one  of  his  compatriots,  remained 
outside  the  tent. 

“ Holloa  ! ” said  Monk,  in  .French,  “ wake  up  here ! ” 
Two  or  three  of  the  sleepers  got  up.  “ I want  a man  to 
light  me,”  continued  Monk. 

All  made  a movement,  — some  half-rising,  the  rest 
standing  up.  The  leader  was  the  first  to  rise. 

“ Your  Honor  may  depend  upon  us,”  said  a voice  which 
made  Athos  start.  “ Where  do  you  wish  us  to  go  ? ” 

“ You  shall  see.  A light ! Come  quickly  ! ” 

“ Yes,  your  Honor.  Does  it  please  your  Honor  that  I 
should  accompany  you  ? ” 

“You  or  another,  — it  is  of  very  little  consequence, 
provided  I have  a light.” 

“ It  is  strange  ! ” thought  Athos ; “ what  a singular  voice 
that  fisherman  has  ! ” 

“ Some  fire,  you  sirs ! ” cried  the  fisherman  ; “ qome, 


250 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


make  haste  ! ” Then  addressing  in  a low  voice  his  com- 
panion nearest  to  him,  “ Get  a light,  Menneville,”  said 
he,  “and  hold  yourself  ready  for  anything.” 

One  of  the  fishermen  struck  light  from  a stone,  set 
fire  to  some  tinder,  and  by  the  aid  of  a match  lighted  a 
lantern.  The  light  immediately  spread  all  over  the  tent. 

“Are  you  ready,  Monsieur?”  said  Monk  to  Athos, 
who  had  turned  away,  not  to  expose  his  face  to  the  light. 

“Yes,  General,”  replied  he. 

“Ah  ! the  French  gentleman  !”  said  the  leader  of  the 
fishermen  to  himself.  “ Peste  ! I have  a great  mind  to 
charge  you  with  the  commission,  Menneville ; he  may 
know  me.  Light  ! light  ! ” This  dialogue  was  pro- 
nounced at  the  back  of  the  tent,  and  in  so  low  a voice 
that  Monk  could  not  hear  a syllable  of  it ; he  was,  besides, 
talking  with  Athos.  Menneville  got  himself  ready  in  the 
mean  time,  or  rather  received  the  orders  of  his  leader. 

“ Well  ? ” said  Monk. 

“ I am  ready,  General,”  said  the  fisherman. 

Monk,  Athos,  and  the  fisherman  left  the  tent. 

“It  is  impossible!”  thought  Athos.  “What  dream 
could  put  that  into  my  head  ? ” 

“Go  forward;  follow  the  middle  causeway,  and  stretch 
out  your  legs,”  said  Monk  to  the  fisherman. 

They  were  not  twenty  paces  on  their  way,  when  the 
same  shadow  that  had  appeared  to  enter  the  tent  came 
out  of  it  again,  crawled  along  as  far  as  the  piles,  and, 
protected  by  that  sort  of  parapet  placed  along  the  cause- 
way, carefully  observed  the  march  of  the  general.  All 
three  disappeared  in  the  night  haze.  They  were  walking 
towards  Newcastle,  the  white  stones  of  which  they  could 
already  see,  appearing  like  tombstones.  After  standing 
for  a few  seconds  under  the  porch,  they  penetrated  into 
the  interior.  The  door  had  been  broken  open  by  hatchets. 


THE  MARCH. 


251 


A post  of  four  men  slept  in  safety  in  a corner ; so  certain 
were  they  that  the  attack  would  not  take  place  on  that 
side. 

“Will  not  these  men  be  in  your  way1?”  said  Monk  to 
Athos. 

“ On  the  contrary,  Monsieur,  they  will  assist  in  rolling 
out  the  casks,  if  your  Honor  will  permit  them.” 

“ You  are  right.” 

The  post,  although  fast  asleep,  roused  up  at  the  first 
steps  of  the  three  visitors  among  the  briers  and  grass  that 
had  invaded  the  porch.  Monk  gave  the  password,  and 
penetrated  into  the  interior  of  the  convent,  preceded  by 
the  light.  He  walked  last,  watching  even  the  least  move- 
ment of  Athos,  his  naked  dirk  in  his  sleeve,  and  ready  to 
plunge  it  into  the  back  of  the  gentleman  at  the  first  sus- 
picious gesture  he  should  see  him  make.  But  Athos, 
with  a firm  and  sure  step,  traversed  the  chambers  and 
courts.  Not  a door,  not  a window,  was  left  in  this  build- 
ing. The  doors  had  been  burnt,  some  upon  the  spot, 
and  the  charcoal  of  them  was  still  jagged  with  the  action 
of  the  fire,  which  had  gone  out  of  itself,  powerless,  no 
doubt,  to  get  to  the  heart  of  those  massive  joints  of  oak 
fastened  together  by  iron  nails.  As  to  the  windows,  all 
the  panes  having  been  broken,  birds  of  darkness,  alarmed 
by  the  torch,  flew  away  through  the  holes  of  them.  At 
the  same  time  gigantic  bats  began  to  trace  their  vast, 
silent  circles  around  the  intruders,  while  their  shadows 
appeared  trembling  upon  the  lofty  stone-walls  in  the  light 
projected  by  the  torch.  That  spectacle  was  reassuring  to 
men  of  reasoning  minds.  Monk  concluded  there  could 
be  no  man  in  the  convent,  since  wild  creatures  were  there, 
who  flew  away  at  his  approach.  After  having  passed  the 
rubbish,  and  torn  away  more  than  one  branch  of  ivy  that 
had  made  itself  a guardian  for  the  solitude,  Athos  arrived 


252 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


at  the  vaults  situated  beneath  the  great  hall,  but  entered 
from  the  chapel.  There  he  stopped. 

‘‘Here  we  are,  General/’  said  he. 

“ This,  then,  is  the  slab?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Ay,  and  here  is  the  ring ; but  the  ring  is  sealed 
flatwise  on  the  stone.” 

“We  must  have  a lever.” 

“ That ’s  a thing  very  easy  to  find.” 

While  looking  round  them,  Athos  and  Monk  perceived 
a little  ash  of  about  three  inches  in  diameter,  which  had 
shot  up  in  an  angle  of  the  wall,  reaching  to  a window, 
which  its  branches  darkened. 

“ Have  you  a cutlass  ? ” said  Monk  to  the  fisherman. 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“Cut  down  this  tree,  then.” 

The  fisherman  obeyed,  but  not  without  notching  his 
cutlass.  When  the  ash  was  cut  and  fashioned  into  the 
shape  of  a lever,  the  three  men  penetrated  into  the 
vault. 

“ Stop  there  ! ” said  Monk  to  the  fisherman,  pointing  to 
a corner  of  the  cavern.  “We  are  going  to  dig  up  some 
powder;  your  light  may  be  dangerous.” 

The  man  drew  back  in  a sort  of  terror,  and  faithfully 
kept  to  the  post  assigned  him,  while  Monk  and  Athos 
turned  behind  a column  at  the  foot  of  which,  through  a 
small  opening,  penetrated  a moonbeam,  reflected  exactly 
by  the  stone  of  which  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  had  come  so 
far  in  search. 

“ This  is  it,”  said  Athos,  pointing  out  to  the  general 
the  Latin  inscription. 

“ Yes,”  said  Monk. 

Then,  as  if  still  willing  to  leave  the  Frenchman  a 
means  of  evasion,  “ Do  you  not  observe  that  this  vault 


THE  MARCH. 


253 


has  already  been  broken  into,”  continued  he,  “ and  that 
several  statues  have  been  knocked  down  ? 99 

“ My  Lord,  you  have,  without  doubt,  heard  it  said  that 
the  religious  devotion  of  your  Scots  loves  to  confide  to  the 
statues  of  the  dead  the  valuable  objects  they  have  pos- 
sessed during  their  lives.  Therefore  the  soldiers  had 
reason  to  think  that  under  the  pedestals  of  the  statues 
which  ornament  most  of  these  tombs,  a treasure  was 
hidden.  They  have  consequently  broken  down  pedestal 
and  statue ; but  the  tomb  of  the  venerable  canon,  with 
which  we  have  to  do,  is  not  distinguished  by  any  monu- 
ment. It  is  simple ; therefore  it  has  been  protected  by 
the  superstitious  fear  which  your  Puritans  have  always 
had  of  sacrilege.  Not  a morsel  of  the  masonry  of  this 
tomb  has  been  chipped  off.” 

“That  is  true,”  said  Monk. 

Athos  seized  the  lever. 

“ Shall  I help  you  V: 9 said  Monk. 

“Thank  you,  my  Lord;  but  I am  not  willing  your 
Honor  should  put  your  hand  to  a work  of  which,  perhaps, 
you  would  not  take  the  responsibility  if  you  knew  the 
probable  consequences  of  it.” 

Monk  raised  his  head. 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Monsieur?” 

“ I mean  — Rut  that  man  — ” 

“ Stop,”  said  Monk ; “ I perceive  what  you  are  afraid 
of.  I will  test  him.”  Monk  turned  towards  the  fisher- 
man, whose  profile,  illuminated  by  the  torch,  he  could 
clearly  see. 

“ Come  here,  friend  ! ” said  he,  in  English,  in  a tone  of 
command.  The  fisherman  did  not  stir. 

“That  is  well,”  continued  he:  “he  does  not  know 
English.  Speak  to  me,  then,  m English,  if  you  please, 
Monsieur.” 


254  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

“My  Lord/’  replied  Athos,  “I  have  frequently  seen 
men  in  certain  circumstances  have  such  command  over 
themselves  as  not  to  reply  to  a question  put  to  them  in 
a language  they  understood.  The  fisherman  is  perhaps 
more  knowing  than  we  believe  him  to  be.  Send  him 
away,  my  Lord,  I beg  of  you.” 

“Decidedly,”  thought  Monk,  “he  wishes  to  have  me 
alone  in  this  vault.  Never  mind,  we  will  go  through  with 
it;  one  man  is  as  good  as  another  man  ; and  we  are  alone. 
— My  friend,”  said  Monk  to  the  fisherman,  “go  back  up 
the  stairs  we  have  just  descended,  and  watch  that  no- 
body comes  to  disturb  us.”  The  fisherman  made  a sign 
of  obedience.  “ Leave  your  torch,”  said  Monk ; “ it 
would  betray  your  presence,  and  might  procure  you  a 
musket-ball.” 

The  fisherman  appeared  to  appreciate  the  counsel ; he 
laid  down  the  light,  and  disappeared  under  the  vault  of 
the  stairs.  Monk  took  up  the  torch  and  brought  it  to 
the  foot  of  the  column. 

“ Ah,  ah  ! ” said  he ; “ money,  then,  is  concealed  under 
this  tomb  1 ” 

“Yes,  my  Lord;  and  in  five  minutes  you  will  no 
longer  doubt  it.” 

At  the  same  time  Athos  struck  a violent  blow  upon 
the  plaster,  which  split,  presenting  a chink  for  the  point 
of  the  lever.  Athos  introduced  the  bar  into  this  crack  ; 
and  soon  large  pieces  of  plaster  yielded,  rising  up  like 
rounded  slabs.  Then  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  seized  the 
stones  and  threw  them  away  with  a force  that  hands  so 
delicate  as  his  might  not  have  been  supposed  capable  of. 

“My  Lord,”  said  Athos,  “this  is  plainly  the  masonry 
of  which  I told  your  Honor.” 

“Yes ; but  I do  not  yet  see  the  casks,”  said  Monk. 

“ If  I had  a poniard,”  said  Athos,  looking  round  him. 


THE  MARCH. 


255 


“ you  should  soon  see  them,  Monsieur.  Unfortunately 
I left  mine  in  your  tent.” 

“I  would  willingly  offer  you  mine,”  said  Monk,  “but 
the  blade  is  too  thin  for  such  work.” 

Athos  appeared  to  look  around  him  for  something  that 
might  serve  as  a substitute  for  the  weapon  he  desired. 
Monk  did  not  lose  one  of  the  movements  of  his  hands,  or 
one  of  the  expressions  of  his  eyes. 

“ Why  do  you  not  ask  the  fisherman  for  his  cutlass  % ” 
said  Monk;  “he  had  a cutlass.” 

“Ah  ! that  is  true,”  said  Athos,  “for  he  cut  the  tree 
down  with  it ; ” and  he  advanced  towards  the  stairs. 

“Friend,”  said  he  to  the  fisherman,  “throw  me  down 
your  cutlass,  if  you  please ; I want  it.” 

The  noise  of  the  falling  weapon  echoed  over  the  stones 
of  the  vault. 

“ Take  it,”  said  Monk ; “ it  is  a solid  instrument,  as 
I have  seen,  and  a strong  hand  might  make  good  use 
of  it.” 

Athos  appeared  to  give  the  words  of  Monk  only  the 
natural  and  simple  sense  which  most  obviously  belonged 
to  them.  Nor  did  he  remark,  or  at  least  appear  to  re- 
mark, that  when  he  returned  with  the  weapon,  Monk 
drew  back,  placing  his  left  hand  on  the  stock  of  his 
pistol ; in  the  right  he  already  held  his  dirk.  Athos 
went  to  work  then,  turning  his  back  to  Monk,  placing  his 
life  in  his  hands  without  possible  defence.  He  then 
struck,  for  several  seconds,  so  skilfully  and  sharply  upon 
the  intermediary  plaster,  that  it  separated  in  two  parts, 
and  Monk  was  able  to  discern  two  casks  placed  end  to 
end,  which  their  weight  maintained  motionless  in  their 
chalky  envelope. 

“ My  Lord,”  said  Athos,  “ you  see  that  my  presenti- 
ments have  not  been  disappointed.” 


256 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Yes,  Monsieur/’  said  Monk,  “and  I have  good  reason 
to  believe  you  are  satisfied ; are  you  not  ] ” 

“ Doubtless  I am ; the  loss  of  this  money  would  have 
been  inexpressibly  great  to  me ; but  I was  certain  that 
God,  who  protects  the  good  cause,  would  not  have  per- 
mitted this  gold,  which  should  procure  its  triumph,  to  be 
diverted  to  baser  purposes.” 

“You  are,  upon  my  honor,  as  mysterious  in  your  words 
as  in  your  actions,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk.  “ Just  now 
I did  not  perfectly  understand  you  when  you  said  that 
you  were  not  willing  to  throw  upon  me  the  responsibility 
of  the  work  we  were  accomplishing.” 

“I  had  reason  to  say  so,  my  Lord.” 

“ And  now  you  speak  to  me  of  the  good  cause.  What 
do  you  mean  by  the  words  ‘the  good  cause’]  We  are 
defending  at  this  moment,  in  England,  five  or  six  causes  ; 
which  does  not  prevent  every  one  from  considering  his 
own,  not  only  as  the  good  cause,  but  as  the  best.  What 
is  yours,  Monsieur]  Speak  boldly,  that  we  may  see  if 
upon  this  point,  to  which  you  appear  to  attach  great 
importance,  we  are  of  the  same  opinion.” 

Athos  fixed  upon  Monk  one  of  those  penetrating  looks 
which  seem  to  convey  to  him  on  whom  they  rest  a chal- 
lenge to  conceal  a single  one  of  his  thoughts ; then, 
taking  off  his  hat,  he  began  in  a solemn  voice,  while  his 
interlocutor,  with  one  hand  upon  his  face,  allowed  that 
long  and  nervous  hand  to  compress  his  mustache  and 
beard,  at  the  same  time  that  his  vague  and  melancholy 
eye  wandered  about  the  recesses  of  the  vaults. 


HEAR1'  AND  MIND. 


257 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

HEART  AND  MIND. 

“ My  Lord,”  said  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  “ you  are  a noble 
Englishman,  you  are  a loyal  man ; you  are  speaking  to 
a noble  Frenchman,  to  a man  of  heart.  This  gold  con- 
tained in  these  two  casks  before  us,  I have  told  you  was 
mine.  I was  wrong  ; it  is  the  first  lie  I have  pronounced 
in  my  life,  — a temporary  lie,  it  is  true.  This  gold  is  the 
property  of  King  Charles  II.,  exiled  from  his  country, 
driven  from  his  palaces,  losing  at  once  his  father  and  his 
throne,  and  deprived  of  everything,  even  of  the  melan- 
choly happiness  of  kissing  on  his  knees  the  stone  upon 
which  the  hands  of  his  murderers  have  written  that 
simple  epitaph  which  will  eternally  cry  out  for  vengeance 
upon  them  : ‘ Here  lies  Charles  I.’  ” 

Monk  grew  slightly  pale,  and  an  imperceptible  shudder 
crept  over  his  skin  and  raised  his  gray  mustache. 

“ I,”  continued  Athos,  — “ I,  Comte  de  la  Fere,  the 
last,  the  only  faithful  friend  the  poor  abandoned  prince 
has  left,  — I have  offered  to  come  hither  to  find  the 
man  upon  whom  now  depends  the  fate  of  royalty  and 
of  England  ; and  I have  come,  and  have  placed  myself 
under  the  eye  of  this  man,  naked  and  unarmed  in  his 
hands,  saying  : 4 My  Lord,  here  is  the  last  resource  of 
a prince  whom  God  made  your  master,  whom  his  birth 
made  your  king;  upon  you,  and  you  alone,  depend  his 
life  and  his  future.  Will  you  employ  this  money  in  con- 
soling England  for  the  evils  it  must  have  suffered  from 

VOL.  i.  — 1 7 


258 


THE  V1C0MTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


anarchy ; that  is  to  say,  will  you  aid  King  Charles  II.  ; 
or  if  not  that,  will  you  leave  him  free  to  act  1 You  are 
master;  you  are  king,  — all-powerful  master  and  king,  for 
chance  sometimes  defeats  the  work  of  time  and  God/  I 
am  here  alone  with  you,  my  Lord.  If  the  success  being 
divided  alarms  you,  if  my  complicity  annoys  you,  you  are 
armed,  my  Lord,  and  here  is  a grave  ready-dug.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  the  enthusiasm  of  your  cause  carries  you 
away ; if  you  are  what  you  appear  to  be ; if  your  hand  in 
what  it  undertakes  obeys  your  mind,  and  your  mind  your 
heart,  — here  are  the  means  of  ruining  forever  the  cause 
of  your  enemy,  Charles  Stuart.  Kill,  then,  the  man  you 
have  before  you,  — for  that  man  will  never  return  to  him 
who  has  sent  him  without  bearing  with  him  the  deposit 
which  Charles  I.,  his  father,  confided  to  him,  — and  keep 
the  gold  which  may  assist  in  carrying  on  the  civil  war. 
Alas  ! my  Lord,  it  is  the  fate  of  this  unfortunate  prince. 
He  must  either  corrupt  or  kill,  — for  everything  resists 
him,  everything  repulses  him,  everything  is  hostile  to 
him ; and  yet  he  is  marked  with  the  divine  seal,  and  he 
must,  not  to  belie  his  blood,  reascend  the  throne,  or  die 
upon  the  sacred  soil  of  his  country. 

“My  Lord,  you  have  heard  me.  To  any  other  but 
the  illustrious  man  who  listens  to  me,  I would  have  said  : 
4 My  Lord,  you  are  poor ; my  Lord,  the  king  offers  you 
this  million  as  an  earnest  of  an  imm'ense  profit ; take  it, 
and  serve  Charles  II.  as  I served  Charles  I.,  and  I feel 
assured  that  God,  who  listens  to  us,  who  sees  us,  who 
alone  reads  your  heart,  shut  up  from  all  human  eyes, 
— I am  assured  God  will  give  you  a happy  eternal  life 
after  a happy  death/  But  to  General  Monk,  to  the 
illustrious  man  of  whose  height  I believe  I have  taken 
measure,  I say  : ‘ My  Lord,  there  is  for  you  in  the  his- 
tory of  peoples  and  kings  a brilliant  place,  an  immortal, 


HEART  AND  MIND. 


259 


imperishable  glory,  if  alone,  without  any  other  interests 
but  those  of  justice  and  the  good  of  your  country, 
you  become  the  supporter  of  your  king.  Many  others 
have  been  conquerors  and  glorious  usurpers ; you,  my 
Lord,  you  will  be  content  with  being  the  most  virtuous? 
the  most  honest,  and  the  most  incorruptible  of  men  : you 
will  have  held  a crown  in  your  hand,  and  instead  of 
placing  it  upon  your  own  brow,  you  will  have  deposited 
it  upon  the  head  of  him  for  whom  it  was  made.  Oh,  my 
Lord,  act  thus,  and  you  will  leave  to  posterity  the  most 
enviable  of  names,  in  which  no  human  creature  can  rival 
you  ! ’ ” 

Athos  stopped.  During  the  whole  time  that  the  noble 
gentleman  was  speaking,  Monk  had  not  given  one  sign 
of  either  approbation  or  disapprobation ; scarcely  even, 
during  this  vehement  appeal,  had  his  eyes  been  animated 
with  that  fire  which  bespeaks  intelligence.  The  Comte 
de  la  Fere  looked  at  him  sorrowfully,  and  on  seeing  that 
melancholy  countenance,  felt  discouragement  penetrate 
to  his  very  heart.  At  length  Monk  appeared  to  recover, 
and  broke  the  silence. 

“Monsieur,”  said  he,  in  a mild,  calm  tone,  “ in  reply 
to  you,  I will  make  use  of  your  own  words.  To  any 
other  but  yourself  I would  reply  by  expulsion,  imprison- 
ment, or  still  worse ; for,  in  fact,  you  tempt  me  and  you 
force  me  at  the  same  time.  But  you  are  one  of  those 
men,  Monsieur,  to  whom  it  is  impossible  to  refuse  the 
attention  and  respect  they  merit ; you  are  a brave  gen- 
tleman, Monsieur,  — I say  so,  and  I am  a judge.  You 
just  now  spoke  of  a deposit  which  the  late  king  trans- 
mitted to  his  son ; are  you,  then,  one  of  those  Frenchmen 
who,  as  I have  heard,  endeavored  to  carry  olf  Charles  I. 
from  Whitehall?” 

“Yes,  my  Lord;  it  was  I who  was  beneath  the  scaffold 


260 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


during  the  execution,  — I who,  having  been  unable  to  save 
him,  received  upon  my  brow  the  blood  of  the  martyred 
king.  I received,  at  the  same  time,  the  last  word  of 
Charles  I. ; it  was  to  me  he  said,  4 Bemember  ! ’ and  in 
saying  to  me  4 Bemember ! ’ he  made  allusion  to  the 
money  at  your  feet,  my  Lord.” 

44 1 have  heard  much  of  you,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk, 
44  but  I am  happy,  in  the  first  place,  to  have  appreciated 
you  by  my  own  inspiration,  and  not  by  my  remembrances. 
I will  give  you,  then,  explanations  that  I have  given  to 
no  other,  and  you  will  appreciate  what  a distinction  I 
make  between  you  and  the  persons  who  have  hitherto 
been  sent  to  me.” 

Athos  bowed,  and  prepared  to  absorb  greedily  the 
words  which  fell,  one  by  one,  from  the  mouth  of  Monk, 
— words  rare  and  precious  as  the  dew  in  the  desert. 

44  You  spoke  to  me,”  said  Monk,  44  of  Charles  II. ; but 
pray,  Monsieur,  of  what  consequence  to  me  is  that  phan- 
tom of  a king  £ I have  grown  old  in  war  and  in  politics, 
which  are  nowadays  so  closely  linked  together  that  every 
man  of  the  sword  must  fight,  in  virtue  of  his  rights  or 
his  ambition,  with  a personal  interest,  and  not  blindly 
behind  an  officer,  as  in  ordinary  wars.  For  myself,  I 
perhaps  desire  nothing,  but  I fear  much.  In  the  war  of 
to-day  resides  the  liberty  of  England,  and  perhaps  that 
of  every  Englishman.  How  can  you  expect  that  I,  free 
in  the  position  I have  made  for  myself,  should  go  willingly 
and  hold  out  my  hands  to  the  shackles  of  a stranger? 
That  is  all  Charles  is  to  me.  He  has  fought  battles  here 
which  he  has  lost ; he  is  therefore  a bad  captain.  He  has 
succeeded  in  no  negotiation ; he  is  therefore  a bad  diplo- 
matist. He  has  paraded  his  wants  and  his  miseries  in  all 
the  courts  of  Europe ; he  has  therefore  a weak  and  pusil- 
lanimous heart.  Nothing  noble,  nothing  great,  nothing 


HEART  AND  MIND. 


261 


strong,  has  hitherto  emanated  from  that  genius  which 
aspires  to  govern  one  of  the  greatest  kingdoms  of  the 
earth.  I know  this  Charles,  then,  under  none  but  bad 
aspects  ; and  yet  you  would  wish  me,  a man  of  good  sense, 
to  go  and  make  myself  gratuitously  the  slave  of  a creature 
who  is  inferior  to  me  in  military  capacity,  in  politics,  and 
in  dignity!  No,  Monsieur.  When  some  great  and  noble 
action  shall  have  taught  me  to  value  Charles,  I will  per- 
haps recognize  his  rights  to  a throne  from  which  we  have 
cast  the  father  because  he  lacked  virtues  which  up  to  this 
time  are  wanting  also  in  his  son.  But  hitherto,  in  the 
matter  of  rights,  I recognize  only  my  own  : the  Bevolu- 
tion  made  me  a general;  my  sword  will  make  me  pro- 
tector, if  I wish  it.  Let  Charles  show  himself,  let  him 
present  himself,  let  him  submit  to  the  competitions  open 
to  genius ; and,  above  all,  let  him  remember  that  he  is 
of  a race  from  whom  more  will  be  looked  for  than 
from  any  other.  Therefore,  Monsieur,  say  no  more  about 
him.  I neither  refuse  nor  accept : I reserve  myself  — I 
wait.” 

Athos  knew  Monk  to  be  too  well  informed  of  all  con- 
cerning Charles  to  venture  to  urge  the  discussion  further ; 
it  was  neither  the  time  nor  the  place.  “My  Lord,”  then 
said  he,  “ I have  nothing  to  do  but  to  thank  you.” 

“And  for  what,  Monsieur'?  For  your  having  formed 
a correct  opinion  of  me,  and  for  my  having  acted  accord- 
ing to  your  judgment'?  Is  that,  in  truth,  worthy  of 
thanks'?  This  gold  which  you  are  about  to  carry  to 
Charles  will  serve  me  as  a test  for  him  ; in  seeing  the  use 
he  will  make  of  it  I shall  have  an  opinion,  which  now  I 
have  not.” 

“And  yet  does  not  your  Honor  fear  to  compromise 
yourself  by  allowing  such  a sum  to  be  carried  away  for 
the  service  of  your  enemy  *?  ” 


262 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ My  enemy,  say  you?  Eh,  Monsieur,  I have  no 
enemies.  I am  in  the  service  of  the  Parliament,  which 
orders  me  to  combat  General  Lambert  and  King  Charles, 

— its  enemies,  and  not  mine.  I combat  them.  If  the 
Parliament,  on  the  contrary,  ordered  me  to  unfurl  my 
standards  at  London,  to  assemble  my  soldiers  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames  to  receive  Charles  II.  — ” 

“You  would  obey?”  cried  Athos,  joyfully. 

“Pardon  me,”  said  Monk,  smiling,  “I  was  going  — I, 
a gray-headed  man  — in  truth,  how  did  I forget  myself? 

— I was  going  to  speak  like  a foolish  young  man.” 

“ Then  you  would  not  obey  ? ” said  Athos. 

“ I do  not  say  that  either,  Monsieur.  The  welfare  of 
my  country  before  everything.  God,  who  has  given  me 
the  power,  has,  no  doubt,  willed  that  I should  use  that 
power  for  the  good  of  all ; and  he  has  given  me,  at  the 
same  time,  discernment.  If  the  Parliament  were  to  order 
such  a thing,  I should  — reflect.” 

The  brow  of  Athos  became  clouded.  “ Then  I may 
decidedly  say  that  your  Honor  is  not  inclined  to  favor 
King  Charles  II.  ? ” 

“ You  continue  to  question  me,  Monsieur  the  Count ; 
allow  me,  in  my  turn,  if  you  please.” 

“ Do,  Monsieur ; and  may  God  inspire  you  with  the 
idea  of  replying  to  me  as  frankly  as  I will  reply  to  you.” 

“ When  you  shall  have  taken  this  money  back  to  your 
prince,  what  advice  will  you  give  him  ? ” 

Athos  fixed  upon  Monk  a proud  and  resolute  look. 
“ My  Lord,”  said  he,  “ with  this  million,  which  others 
would  perhaps  employ  in  negotiating,  I would  advise  the 
king  to  raise  two  regiments  ; to  enter  by  Scotland,  which 
you  have  just  pacified  ; to  give  to  the  people  the  fran- 
chises which  the  revolution  promised  them,  and  in  which 
it  has  not  in  all  cases  kept  its  word.  I should  advise 


HEART  AND  MIND. 


263 


him  to  command  in  person  this  little  army,  — which 
would,  believe  me,  increase,  — and  to  die,  standard  in 
hand,  and  sword  in  its  sheath,  saying,  ‘ Englishmen  ! I 
am  the  third  king  of  my  race  you  have  killed  ; beware 
of  the  justice  of  God  ! ’ ” 

Monk  hung  down  his  head,  and  mused  for  an  instant. 
“ If  he  succeeded,”  said  he,  — “ which  is  very  improbable, 
but  not  impossible,  for  everything  is  possible  in  this 
world,  — what  would  you  advise  him  to  do  ? ” 

“ To  think  that  by  the  will  of  God  he  lost  his  crown, 
but  by  the  good  will  of  men  he  has  recovered  it.” 

An  ironical  smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  Monk.  “Un- 
fortunately, Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ kings  do  not  know  how 
to  follow  good  advice.” 

“ Ah,  my  Lord,  Charles  II.  is  not  a king,”  replied 
Athos,  smiling  in  his  turn,  but  with  a very  different  ex- 
pression from  that  of  Monk. 

“ Let  us  terminate  this  conversation,  Monsieur  the 
Count,  — that  is  your  desire,  is  it  not  ? ” 

Athos  bowed. 

“ I will  give  orders  that  these  two  casks  shall  be  trans- 
ported whither  you  please.  Where  are  you  lodging, 
Monsieur?  ” 

“ In  a little  bourg  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  your  Honor.” 

f Oh,  I know  the  bourg ; it  consists  of  five  or  six 
houses,  does  it  not  ? ” 

“Exactly.  Well,  I inhabit  the  first.  Two  net-makers 
occupy  it  with  me  ; it  is  their  boat  which  placed  me  on 
shore.” 

“ But  your  own  vessel,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ My  vessel  is  at  anchor,  a quarter  of  a mile  at  sea,  and 
waits  for  me.” 

“ You  do  not  think,  however,  of  setting  out  imme- 
diately ? ” 


264 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNK 


66  My  Lord,  I shall  try  once  more  to  convince  your 
Honor.” 

“You  will  not  succeed,”  replied  Monk;  “ but  it  is  of 
consequence  that  you  should  quit  Newcastle  without 
leaving  on  your  passage  the  least  suspicion  that  might 
prove  injurious  to  you  or  to  me.  To-morrow  my  officers 
think  Lambert  will  attack  me.  I,  on  the  contrary,  will 
guarantee  that  he  will  not  stir  ; it  is,  in  my  opinion,  im- 
possible. Lambert  leads  an  army  devoid  of  homogeneous 
principles,  and  there  is  no  possible  army  with  such  ele- 
ments. I have  taught  my  soldiers  to  consider  my  au- 
thority subordinate  to  another,  the  result  being  that  after 
me,  around  me,  and  beneath  me  they  still  look  for  some- 
thing. And  the  consequence  is,  that  if  I were  dead,  which 
might  happen,  my  army  would  not  be  demoralized  all  at 
once ; that  if  I chose  to  absent  myself,  for  instance,  as  it 
does  please  me  to  do  sometimes,  there  would  not  be  in 
my  camp  the  shadow  of  uneasiness  or  disorder.  I am  the 
magnet,  — the  sympathetic  and  natural  strength  of  the 
English.  All  those  scattered  arms  that  will  be  sent 
against  me  I shall  attract  to  myself.  Lambert,  at  this 
moment,  commands  eighteen  thousand  deserters ; but  I 
have  never  mentioned  that  to  my  officers,  you  may  easily 
suppose.  Nothing  is  more  useful  to  an  army  than  the 
expectation  of  a coming  battle ; everybody  is  awake, 
everybody  is  on  his  guard.  I tell  you  this  that  you  may 
live  in  perfect  security.  Do  not  be  in  a hurry,  then,  to 
cross  the  seas ; within  a week  there  will  be  something 
new,  either  a battle  or  an  accommodation.  Then,  as  you 
have  judged  me  to  be  an  honorable  man,  and  confided 
your  secret  to  me,  and  I have  to  thank  you  for  this  con- 
fidence, I will  come  and  pay  you  a visit  or  send  for 
you.  Do  not  go  before  I send  you  word.  I repeat  the 
request.” 


HEART  AND  MIND. 


265 


“I  promise  you,  General,”  cried  Athos,  with  a joy  so 
great,  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  circumspection,  he  could  not 
prevent  its  sparkling  in  his  eyes. 

Monk  surprised  this  flash,  and  immediately  extinguished 
it  by  one  of  those  mute  smiles  which  always,  with  his  in- 
terlocutors, closed  the  entrance  they  believed  they  had 
made  into  his  mind. 

“ Then,  my  Lord,  you  desire  me  to  wait  a week  ? ” 

“ A week,  — yes,  Monsieur.  ” 

“ And  during  this  week  what  shall  I do  1 ” 

“If  there  should  be  a battle,  keep  at  a distance  from 
it,  I conjure  you.  I know  the  French  delight  in  such 
amusements ; you  might  take  a fancy  to  see  how  we 
fight,  and  you  might  receive  a wandering  bullet.  Our 
Scots  are  very  bad  marksmen,  and  I do  not  wish  that 
a worthy  gentleman  like  you  should  return  to  France 
wounded.  I should  not  like,  either,  to  be  obliged  myself 
to  send  to  your  prince  his  million  left  here  by  you ; for 
then  it  would  be  said,  and  with  reason,  that  I paid  the 
pretender  to  enable  him  to  make  war  against  the  Parlia- 
ment. Go,  then,  Monsieur,  and  let  it  be  done  as  has  been 
agreed  upon.” 

“ Ah,  my  Lord,”  said  Athos,  “ what  joy  it  would  give 
me  to  be  the  first  to  penetrate  the  noble  heart  which 
beats  beneath  that  cloak  ! ” 

“ You  decidedly  think,  then,  that  I have  secrets,”  said 
Monk,  without  changing  the  half-cheerful  expression  of 
his  countenance.  “ Why,  Monsieur,  what  secret  can  you 
expect  to  find  in  the  hollow  head  of  a soldier  ] But  it  is 
getting  late,  and  our  torch  is  almost  out ; let  us  call  our 
man.  — Holloa  ! ” he  cried,  in  French,  approaching  the 
stairs ; “ holloa  ! fisherman  ! ” 

The  fisherman,  benumbed  by  the  cold  night-air,  replied 
in  a hoarse  voice,  asking  w*hat  they  wanted  of  him. 


266 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Go  to  the  post,”  said  Monk,  ‘‘and  order  a sergeant, 
in  the  name  of  General  Monk,  to  come  here  immediately.” 
This  was  a commission  easily  performed  ; for  the  ser- 
geant, uneasy  at  the  general’s  being  in  that  desolate 
abbey,  had  drawn  nearer  by  degrees,  and  was  not  much 
farther  off  than  the  fisherman.  The  general’s  order  was 
therefore  heard  by  him,  and  he  hastened  to  obey  it. 
i(  Get  a horse  and  two  men,”  said  Monk. 

“ A horse  and  two  men  ? ” repeated  the  sergeant. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Monk.  “ Have  you  any  means  of  get- 
ting a horse  with  a pack-saddle  or  two  panniers  ? ” 

“No  doubt,  at  a hundred  paces  off,  in  the  Scotch 
camp.” 

“Very  well.” 

“ What  shall  I do  with  the  horse,  General  ” 

“ Look  here.” 

The  sergeant  descended  the  three  steps  which  sep- 
arated him  from  Monk,  and  came  into  the  vault. 

“You  see,”  said  Monk,  “that  gentleman  yonder?” 
“Yes,  General.” 

“ And  you  see  these  two  casks  ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“One  of  these  two  casks  contains  powder,  and  the 
other  balls ; I wish  these  casks  to  be  transported  to  the 
little  bourg  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  which  I reckon 
upon  occupying  to-morrow  with  two  hundred  muskets. 
You  understand  that  the  commission  is  a secret  one, 
for  it  is  a movement  that  may  decide  the  fate  of  the 
battle.” 

“ Oh,  my  general ! ” murmured  the  sergeant. 

“ Mind,  then ! Let  these  casks  be  fastened  on  the 
horse,  and  let  them  be  escorted  by  two  men  and  you  to 
the  residence  of  this  gentleman,  who  is  my  friend.  But 
take  care  that  nobody  knows  it.*” 


HEART  AND  MIND. 


267 


“ I would  go  by  the  marsh  if  I knew  the  road,”  said 
the  sergeant. 

“I  know  one  myself,”  said  Athos;  “it  is  not  wide,  but 
it  is  solid,  having  been  made  upon  piles ; and  with  pre- 
caution we  shall  get  there  safely  enough.” 

“ Do  everything  this  gentleman  shall  order  you  to  do.” 

“ Oh ! oh  ! the  casks  are  heavy,”  said  the  sergeant, 
trying  to  lift  one. 

“ They  weigh  four  hundred  pounds  each,  if  they  contain 
what  they  ought  to  contain,  do  they  not,  Monsieur  ] ” 

“ Thereabouts,”  said  Athos. 

The  sergeant  went  in  search  of  the  two  men  and  the 
horse.  Monk,  left  alone  with  Athos,  affected  to  speak  to 
him  of  nothing  but  indifferent  things,  while  examining 
the  vault  in  a cursory  manner.  Then,  hearing  the  horse’s 
steps,  “ I leave  you  with  your  men,  Monsieur,”  said  he, 
“and  return  to  the  camp.  You  are  perfectly  safe.” 

“I  shall  see  you  again,  then,  my  Lord'?”  asked  Athos. 

“ That  is  agreed  upon,  Monsieur,  and  with  much 
pleasure.” 

Monk  held  out  his  hand  to  Athos. 

“ Ah  ! my  Lord,  if  you  would  — ” murmured  Athos. 

“Hush!  Monsieur,  it  is  agreed  that  we  shall  speak  no 
more  of  that.”  And  bowing  to  Athos,  he  went  up  the 
stairs,  passing,  about  the  middle  of  them,  his  men  who 
were  coming  down. 

Monk  had  not  gone  twenty  paces  from  the  abbey  when 
a faint  but  prolonged  whistle  was  heard  at  a distance. 
He  listened,  but,  seeing  nothing  and  hearing  nothing, 
continued  on  his  way.  Then  he  remembered  the  fisher- 
man, and  looked  about  for  him  ; but  the  fisherman  had 
disappeared.  If  he  had,  however,  looked  with  more  at- 
tention, he  might  have  seen  that  man,  bent  double, 
gliding  like  a serpent  along  the  stones  and  losing  himself 


268 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


in  the  mist  floating  over  the  surface  of  the  marsh.  He 
might  have  equally  seen,  seeking  to  pierce  that  mist,  a 
spectacle  that  would  have  interested  him,  — the  masts 
of  the  fishing-boat,  which  had  changed  place,  and  wras 
now  nearer  the  shore.  But  Monk  saw  nothing;  and 
thinking  he  had  nothing  to  fear,  he  entered  the  desert 
causeway  which  led  to  his  camp.  It  was  then  that  the 
disappearance  of  the  fisherman  appeared  strange,  and  that 
a real  suspicion  began  to  take  possession  of  his  mind. 
He  had  just  placed  at  the  orders  of  Athos  the  only  post 
that  could  protect  him.  He  had  a mile  of  causeway  to 
traverse  before  he  could  regain  his  camp.  The  fog  in- 
creased to  such  density  that  he  could  scarcely  distinguish 
objects  at  ten  paces’  distance.  Monk  then  thought  he 
heard  the  sound  of  an  oar  over  the  marsh  on  the  right. 
“ Who  goes  there  ” said  he. 

But  nobody  answered  ; then  he  cocked  his  pistol,  took 
his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  quickened  his  pace,  without, 
however,  being  willing  to  call  anybody.  Such  a sum- 
mons, for  which  there  was  no  absolute  necessity,  appeared 
unworthy  of  him. 


THE  NEXT  DAY, 


269 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  NEXT  DAY. 

It  was  seven  o’clock  in  the  morning ; the  first  rajs  of  the 
sun  lighted  the  pools  of  the  marsh,  in  which  it  was  re- 
flected like  a red  ball,  when  Athos,  awaking  and  opening 
the  window  of  his  bed-chamber,  which  looked  out  upon 
the  banks  of  the  river,  perceived,  at  fifteen  paces’  dis- 
tance from  him,  the  sergeant  and  the  men  who  had  ac- 
companied him  the  evening  before,  and  who,  after  having 
deposited  the  casks  at  his  house,  had  returned  to  the 
camp  by  the  causeway  on  the  right. 

For  what  could  these  men,  after  having  returned  to  the 
camp,  have  come  back  % That  was  the  first  question  which 
presented  itself  to  Athos.  The  sergeant,  with  his  head 
raised,  appeared  to  be  watching  the  moment  when  the 
gentleman  should  appear,  to  address  him.  Athos,  sur- 
prised to  see  these  men  there,  whom  he  had  seen  depart 
the  night  before,  could  not  forbear  expressing  his  astonish- 
ment to  them. 

“ There  is  nothing  surprising  in  that,  Monsieur,”  said 
the  sergeant ; ‘‘for  yesterday  the  general  commanded  me 
to  watch  over  your  safety,  and  I thought  it  right  to  obey 
tha,t  order.” 

“ Is  the  general  at  the  camp  1”  asked  Athos. 

“ No  doubt  he  is,  Monsieur ; as  when  he  left  you  he 
was  going  back.” 

“Well,  wait  for  me  a moment ; I am  going  thither  to 
render  an  account  of  the  fidelity  with  which  you  fulfilled 


270 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


your  duty,  and  to  get  my  sword,  which  I left  yesterday 
upon  the  table.” 

“That  falls  out  very  well,”  said  the  sergeant,  “for  we 
were  about  to  beg  you  to  do  so.” 

Athos  fancied  he  could  detect  an  air  of  equivocal  bon- 
homie upon  the  countenance  of  the  sergeant;  but  the 
adventure  of  the  vault  might  have  excited  the  curiosity 
of  the  man,  and  he  was  not  surprised  that  he  allowed 
some  of  the  feelings  which  agitated  his  mind  to  appear  in 
his  face.  Athos  closed  the  doors  carefully,  confiding  the 
keys  to  Grimaud,  who  had  chosen  his  domicile  beneath 
the  shed  itself,  which  led  to  the  cellar  where  the  casks 
had  been  deposited.  The  sergeant  escorted  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere  to  the  camp.  There  a fresh  guard  awaited 
him,  and  relieved  the  four  men  who  had  conducted 
Athos.  This  fresh  guard  was  commanded  by  the  aide- 
de-camp  Digby,  who,  on  their  way,  fixed  upon  Athos 
looks  so  little  encouraging  that  the  Frenchman  asked 
himself  whence  arose,  with  regard  to  him,  this  vigilance 
and  this  severity,  when  the  evening  before  he  had  been 
left  perfectly  free.  He  continued  his  way  not  the  less  to 
the  headquarters,  keeping  to  himself  the  observations 
which  men  and  things  forced  him  to  make.  He  found 
under  the  general’s  tent,  to  which  he  had  been  introduced 
the  evening  before,  three  superior  officers  ; these  were 
Monk’s  lieutenant  and  two  colonels.  Athos  perceived 
his  sword ; it  was  still  on  the  table  where  he  had  left 
it.  Neither  of  the  officers  had  seen  Athos,  consequently 
neither  of  them  knew  him.  Monk’s  lieutenant  asked,  on 
the  appearance  of  Athos,  if  that  were  the  same  gentleman 
with  whom  the  general  had  left  the  tent. 

“ Yes,  your  Honor,”  said  the  sergeant ; “ it  is  the  same.” 

“ But,”  said  Athos,  haughtily,  “ I do  not  deny  it,  I 
think ; and  now,  gentlemen,  in  my  turn,  permit  me  to 


THE  NEXT  DAY. 


271 


ask  you  for  what  purpose  this  question  is  asked,  and  par- 
ticularly for  some  explanation  of  the  tone  in  which  you 
ask  it  1 ” 

“ Monsieur,' ” said  the  lieutenant,  “ if  we  address  this 
question  to  you,  it  is  because  we  have  a right  to  do  so ; 
and  if  we  ask  it  in  a particular  tone,  it  is  because  that 
tone,  believe  me,  agrees  with  the  circumstances. ” 

“Gentlemen,”  said  Athos,  “you  do  not  know  who  I 
am ; but  I must  tell  you  I acknowledge  no  one  as  my 
equal  here  but  General  Monk.  Where  is  ho  h Let  me  be 
conducted  to  him,  and  if  he  has  any  questions  to  put  to 
me,  I will  answer  him,  and  to  his  satisfaction,  I hope.  I 
repeat,  gentlemen,  where  is  the  general  1 ” 

“Eh  ! good  God  ! you  know  better  than  we  do  where 
he  is,”  said  the  lieutenant. 

“I?” 

“Yes,  you.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Athos,  “I  do  not  understand  you.” 

“You  will  understand  me  — and,  on  your  part,  in  the 
first  place,  do  not  speak  so  loud.” 

Athos  smiled  disdainfully. 

“ We  don’t  ask  you  to  smile,”  said  one  of  the  colonels, 
warmly ; “we  require  you  to  answer.” 

“ And  I,  gentlemen,  declare  to  you  that  I will  not  reply 
until  I am  in  the  presence  of  the  general.” 

“ But,”  replied  the  same  colonel  who  had  already 
spoken,  “you  know  very  well  that  you  demand  wrhat  is 
impossible.” 

“ This  is  the  second  time  I have  received  this  strange 
reply  to  the  wish  I express,”  said  Athos.  “Is  the  general 
absent  % ” 

This  question  was  made  with  such  apparent  good  faith, 
and  the  gentleman  wore  an  air  of  such  natural  surprise, 
that  the  three  officers  exchanged  a meaning  look.  The 


272 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


lieutenant,  by  a sort  of  tacit  understanding  with  the 
other  two,  was  spokesman. 

“ Monsieur,  the  general  left  you  last  night  in  the  boun- 
daries of  the  monastery  1 ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ And  you  went  — ” 

“ It  is  not  for  me  to  answer  you,  but  for  those  who 
have  accompanied  me.  They  were  your  soldiers;  ask 
them.” 

“But  if  we  please  to  interrogate  you]  ” 

“ Then  it  will  please  me  to  reply,  Monsieur,  that  I am 
not  answerable  to  any  one  here,  that  I know  no  one  here 
but  the  general,  and  that  it  is  to  him  alone  I will  reply.” 
“So  be  it,  Monsieur  ; but  as  we  are  the  masters,  we 
constitute  ourselves  a council  of  war,  and  when  you  are 
before  judges  you  must  reply.” 

The  countenance  of  Athos  expressed  nothing  but  as- 
tonishment and  disdain,  instead  of  the  terror  the  officers 
expected  to  read  in  it  at  this  threat. 

“ Scotch  or  English  judges  upon  me,  a subject  of  the 
King  of  France  ; upon  me,  placed  under  the  safeguard  of 
British  honor  ! You  are  mad,  gentlemen ! ” said  Athos, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

The  officers  looked  at  each  other.  “ Then,  Monsieur,” 
said  one  of  them,  “ do  you  pretend  not  to  know  where 
the  general  is  ] ” 

“ To  that,  Monsieur,  I have  already  replied.” 

“Yes,  but  your  reply  is  incredible  to  us.” 

“ It  is  true,  nevertheless,  gentlemen.  Men  of  my  rank 
are  not  generally  liars.  I am  a gentleman,  I have  told 
you ; and  when  I have  at  my  side  the  sword  which,  by  an 
excess  of  delicacy,  I last  night  left  upon  the  table  whereon 
it  still  lies,  believe  me,  no  man  says  that  to  me  which  I 
am  unwilling  to  hear.  To-day,  I am  disarmed  : if  you 


THE  NEXT  DAY. 


273 


pretend  to  be  my  judges,  try  me ; if  you  are  but  my  exe- 
cutioners, kill  me.” 

“ But,  Monsieur  — ” asked  the  lieutenant,  in  a more 
courteous  voice,  struck  with  the  lofty  coolness  of  Athos. 

“ Monsieur,  I came  to  speak  confidentially  with  your 
general  about  affairs  of  importance.  It  was  not  an  ordi- 
nary welcome  that  he  gave  me.  The  accounts  your  soldiers 
can  give  you  may  convince  you  of  that.  If,  then,  the 
general  received  me  in  that  manner,  he  knew  what  were 
my  titles  to  his  esteem.  Now,  you  do  not  expect,  I 
presume,  that  I shall  reveal  my  secrets  to  you,  and  still 
less  his.” 

“ But  these  casks,  — what  do  they  contain  % ” 

66  Have  you  not  put  that  question  to  your  soldiers  h 
Wliat  was  their  reply  ] ” 

“ That  they  contained  powder  and  ball.” 

“ From  whom  had  they  that  information  h They  must 
have  told  you  that.” 

“ From  the  general ; but  we  are  not  dupes.” 

“ Beware,  gentlemen ; it  is  not  to  me  you  are  now 
giving  the  lie,  it  is  to  your  leader.” 

The  officers  again  looked  at  each  other.  Athos  con- 
tinued : “ Before  your  soldiers  the  general  told  me  to 
wait  a week,  and  at  the  expiration  of  a week  he  would 
give  me  the  answer  he  had  to  make  me.  Have  I fled 
away  1 No ; I wait.” 

“ He  told  you  to  wait  a week  ! ” cried  the  lieutenant. 

“ He  told  me  so  clearly,  Monsieur,  that  I have  a 
sloop  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  which  I could  with  ease 
have  joined  yesterday,  and  embarked.  Now,  if  I have 
remained,  it  was  only  in  compliance  with  the  desire  of 
your  general ; his  Honor  having  requested  me  not  to 
depart  without  a last  audience,  which  he  fixed  at  a week 
hence.  I repeat  to  you,  then,  I am  waiting.” 

VOL.  I.  — 18 


274 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


The  lieutenant  turned  towards  the  other  officers,  and 
said,  in  a low  voice : “ If  this  gentleman  speaks  truth, 
there  may  still  be  some  hope.  The  general  may  be  carry- 
ing out  some  negotiations  so  secret  that  he  thought  it 
imprudent  to  inform  even  us.  Then  the  time  limited  for 
his  absence  would  be  a week.”  Then,  turning  towards 
Athos,  “Monsieur,”  said  he,  “your  declaration  is  of  the 
most  serious  importance ; are  you  willing  to  repeat  it 
under  the  seal  of  an  oath  ? ” 

“Monsieur,”  replied  Athos,  “ I have  always  lived  in  a 
world  where  my  simple  word  was  regarded  as  the  most 
sacred  of  oaths.” 

“ This  time,  however,  Monsieur,  the  circumstance  is 
graver  than  any  you  may  have  been  placed  in.  The 
safety  of  the  whole  army  is  at  stake.  Reflect ; the  gen- 
eral has  disappeared,  and  we  are  seeking  for  him.  Is  this 
disappearance  natural?  Has  a crime  been  committed? 
Are  we  not  bound  to  carry  our  investigations  to  extremity  ? 
Have  we  any  right  to  wait  with  patience  ? At  this  mo- 
ment everything,  Monsieur,  depends  upon  the  words  you 
are  about  to  pronounce.” 

“ Interrogated  thus,  Monsieur,  I no  longer  hesitate,” 
said  Athos.  “Yes,  I came  hither  to  converse  confiden- 
tially with  General  Monk,  and  to  ask  of  him  an  answer 
regarding  certain  interests ; yes,  the  general,  being  doubt- 
less unable  to  give  it  before  the  expected  battle,  begged 
me  to  remain  a week  in  the  house  I inhabit,  promising 
me  that  in  a week  I should  see  him  again.  Yes,  all  this 
is  true,  and  I swear  it,  by  the  God  who  is  the  absolute 
master  of  my  life  and  yours.”  Athos  pronounced  these 
words  with  so  much  grandeur  and  solemnity,  that  the 
three  officers  were  almost  convinced.  Nevertheless,  one 
of  the  colonels  made  a last  attempt. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ although  we  may  be  now  per- 


THE  NEXT  DAY. 


275 


suaded  of  the  truth  of  what  you  say,  there  is  yet  a strange 
mystery  in  all  this.  The  general  is  too  prudent  a man 
to  have  thus  abandoned  his  army  on  the  eve  of  a battle, 
without  having  at  least  given  to  one  of  us  a notice  of  it. 
As  for  myself,  I cannot  believe  but  that  some  strange 
event  has  been  the  cause  of  this  disappearance.  Yester- 
day some  foreign  fishermen  came  to  sell  their  fish  here ; 
they  were  lodged  yonder  among  the  Scots,  — that  is  to  say, 
on  the  road  the  general  took  with  this  gentleman,  to  go 
to  the  abbey  and  to  return  from  it.  It  was  one  of  those 
fishermen  that  accompanied  the  general  with  a light ; and 
this  morning,  boat  and  fishermen  have  all  disappeared, 
carried  away  by  the  night’s  tide.” 

“For  my  part,”  said  the  lieutenaut,  “ I see  nothing  in 
that  which  is  not  quite  natural,  for  these  people  were  not 
prisoners.” 

“ No ; but  I repeat  that  it  was  one  of  them  who  lighted 
the  general  and  this  gentleman  in  the  vault  of  the  abbey, 
and  Digby  assures  us  that  the  general  had  strong  suspi- 
cions concerning  those  people.  Now,  who  can  say  whether 
these  people  were  not  connected  with  this  gentleman ; 
and  that,  the  blow  being  struck,  the  gentleman,  who  is 
evidently  brave,  did  not  remain  to  reassure  us  by  his 
presence,  and  to  prevent  our  researches  being  made  in 
the  right  direction  1 ” 

This  speech  made  an  impression  upon  the  other  officers. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Athos,  “ permit  me  to  tell  you  that 
your  reasoning,  though  specious  in  appearance,  neverthe- 
less wants  consistency  as  regards  me.  I have  remained, 
you  say,  to  divert  suspicion.  Well  ! on  the  contrary, 
suspicions  arise  in  me  as  well  as  in  you ; and  I say  it  is 
impossible,  gentlemen,  that  the  general,  on  the  eve  of  a 
battle,  should  leave  his  army  without  notice  to  any  one. 
Yes,  there  is  some  strange  event  connected  with  this ; 


276 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


instead  of  being  idle  and  waiting,  you  must  display 
all  the  activity  and  all  the  vigilance  possible,  i am 
your  prisoner,  gentlemen,  upon  parole  or  otherwise.  My 
honor  is  concerned  in  the  ascertaining  of  what  has  become 
of  General  Monk,  and  to  such  a point  that  if  you  were 
to  say  to  me,  4 Depart  !’  I should  reply,  ‘ No,  I will  re- 
main ! 1 and  if  you  were  to  ask  my  opinion,  I should 
add,  ‘Yes,  the  general  is  the  victim  of  some  conspiracy; 
for  if  he  had  intended  to  leave  the  camp  he  would  have 
told  me  so.’  Seek  then,  search  the  land,  search  the  sea ; 
the  general  has  not  gone  away,  or  at  any  rate  has  not 
gone  voluntarily.” 

The  lieutenant  made  a sign  to  the  two  other  officers. 
“No,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  “no;  in  your  turn  you  go  too 
far.  The  general  has  nothing  to  suffer  from  these  events, 
and  no  doubt,  on  the  contrary,  has  directed  them.  What 
Monk  is  now  doing  he  has  often  done  before.  We  are 
wrong  in  alarming  ourselves;  his  absence  will  doubtless 
be  of  short  duration.  Therefore  let  us  beware  of  making 
his  absence  public  by  a pusillanimity  which  the  general 
would  consider  a crime,  and  by  that  means  demoralizing 
the  army.  The  general  gives  a striking  proof  of  his  confi- 
dence in  us ; let  us  show  ourselves  worthy  of  it.  Gentle- 
men, let  the  most  profound  silence  cover  all  this  with  an 
impenetrable  veil ; we  will  detain  this  gentleman,  not 
from  mistrust  of  him  with  regard  to  the  crime,  but  to 
assure  more  effectively  the  secrecy  of  the  absence  of  the 
general,  and  the  confinement  of  it  among  ourselves ; 
therefore,*  until  fresh  orders,  the  gentleman  will  remain 
at  headquarters.” 

“Gentlemen,”  said  Athos,  “you  forget  that  last  night 
the  general  confided  to  me  a deposit  over  which  I am 
bound  to  watch.  Give  me  whatever  guard  you  like,  en- 
chain me  if  you  like,  but  leave  me  the  house  I inhabit 


THE  NEXT  DAY. 


277 


for  my  prison.  The  general  on  his  return  would  reproach 
you,  I swear  on  the  honor  of  a gentleman,  for  having  dis- 
pleased him  in  this.” 

The  officers  consulted  together  a moment ; then,  after 
that  consultation,  “ So  be  it,  Monsieur/’  said  the  lieu- 
tenant ; “ return  to  your  abode.” 

Then  they  placed  over  Athos  a guard  of  fifty  men, 
who  surrounded  his  house,  without  losing  sight  of  him 
for  a minute. 

The  secret  remained  secure;  but  hours,  even  days, 
passed  away  without  the  general’s  returning,  or  without 
anything  being  heard  of  him. 


278 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BR'AGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

CONTRABAND  GOODS. 

Two  days  after  the  events  we  have  just  related,  and  while 
every  instant  General  Monk  was  looked  for  in  the  camp  to 
which  he  did  not  return,  a little  Dutch  felucca,  manned  by 
eleven  men,  cast  anchor  upon  the  coast  of  Scheveningen, 
nearly  within  cannon-shot  of  the  port.  It  was  night ; the 
darkness  was  great ; the  sea  rose  in  the  darkness.  It  was 
a capital  time  to  land  passengers  and  merchandise. 

The  road  of  Scheveningen  forms  a vast  crescent ; it  is 
not  very  deep  and  not  very  safe ; therefore  nothing  is 
seen  stationed  there  but  large  Flemish  hoys,  or  some 
of  those  Dutch  barks  which  fishermen  draw  up  on  the 
sand  upon  rollers,  as  the  ancients  did,  according  to  Virgil. 
When  the  tide,  on  rising,  ascends  and  advances  on  the 
land,  it  is  not  prudent  to  bring  vessels  too  close  in 
shore ; for  if  the  wind  is  fresh  the  prows  are  buried  in  the 
sand,  and  the  sand  of  that  coast  is  spongy,  — it  receives 
easily,  but  does  not  give  up  so.  It  was  on  this  account, 
no  doubt,  that  a boat  was  detached  from  the  bark,  as 
soon  as  the  latter  had  cast  anchor,  and  landed  with  eight 
sailors,  amidst  whom  was  to  be  seen  an  object  of  an  ob- 
long form,  a sort  of  large  pannier  or  bale. 

The  shore  was  deserted ; the  few  fishermen  inhabiting 
the  dune  had  gone  to  bed.  The  only  sentinel  that 
guarded  the  coast,  — a coast  very  badly  guarded,  seeing 
that  a landing  from  large  ships  was  impossible,  — without 
having  been  able  to  follow7  the  example  of  the  fishermen 


CONTRABAND  GOODS. 


279 


who  had  gone  to  bed,  imitated  them  so  far  that  he  slept 
at  the  back  of  his  watch-box  as  soundly  as  they  slept  in 
their  beds.  The  only  noise  to  be  heard,  then,  was  the 
whistling  of  the  night-breeze  among  the  bushes  and  bram- 
bles of  the  dune.  But  the  people  who  were  approaching 
were  doubtless  mistrustful  people,  for  this  real  silence  and 
apparent  solitude  did  not  satisfy  them.  Their  boat,  there- 
fore, scarcely  visible  as  a dark  speck  upon  the  ocean,  glided 
along  noiselessly,  — the  use  of  oars  being  avoided  for  fear 
of  being  heard,  — and  gained  the  nearest  land.  Scarcely 
had  it  touched  the  ground  when  a single  man  jumped  out 
of  the  boat,  after  having  given  a brief  order,  with  a voice 
which  denoted  the  habit  of  commanding.  In  consequence 
of  this  order,  several  muskets  immediately  glittered  in 
the  feeble  light  reflected  from  that  mirror  of  the  heavens, 
the  sea ; and  the  oblong  bale  of  which  we  spoke,  contain- 
ing no  doubt  some  contraband  object,  was  transported  to 
land,  with  infinite  precautions.  Immediately  after,  the 
man  who  had  landed  first,  set  off  in  a hasty  pace  diago- 
nally towards  the  village  of  Scheveningen,  directing  his 
course  to  the  nearest  point  of  the  wood.  When  there, 
he  sought  for  that  house  already  described  as  the  tem- 
porary residence  — and  a very  humble  residence  — of  him 
who  was  styled,  by  courtesy,  King  of  England.  All  wTere 
asleep  there,  as  everywhere  else ; only,  a large  dog,  of  the 
race  of  those  which  the  fishermen  of  Scheveningen  har- 
ness to  little  carts  to  carry  fish  to  the  Hague,  began  to 
bark  formidably  as  soon  as  the  strangers  steps  were  audi- 
ble beneath  the  windows.  But  this  watchfulness,  instead 
of  alarming  the  newly  landed  man,  appeared,  on  the  con- 
trary, to  give  him  great  joy ; for  his  voice  might  perhaps 
have  proved  insufficient  to  rouse  the  people  of  the  house, 
while,  with  an  auxiliary  of  that  sort,  his  voice  became 
almost  useless.  The  stranger  waited,  then,  till  these  re- 


280  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

iterated  aud  sonorous  barkings  should,  according  to  all 
probability,  have  produced  their  effect,  and  then  he  ven- 
tured a summons.  On  hearing  his  voice  the  dog  began 
to  roar  with  such  violence  that  soon  another  voice  was 
heard  from  the  interior,  appeasing  that  of  the  dog.  With 
that  the  dog  was  quieted. 

“ What  do  you  wrant  ? ” asked  the  voice,  at  once  weak, 
broken,  and  civil. 

“ I want  his  Majesty  King  Charles  II.,”  said  the 
stranger. 

“ What  do  you  want  with  him  ? ” 

“ I want  to  speak  to  him.” 

“ Who  are  you  ? ” 

“ Ah,  mordioux  ! you  ask  too  much  ; I don’t  like  talk- 
ing through  doors.” 

“ Only  tell  me  your  name.” 

“ I don’t  like  to  declare  my  name  in  the  open  air, 
either ; besides,  you  may  be  sure  I shall  not  eat  your 
dog,  and  I hope  to  God  he  will  be  as  reserved  with  respect 
to  me.” 

“You  bring  news,  perhaps,  Monsieur,  do  you  not?” 
replied  the  voice,  patient  and  questioning,  like  that  of  an 
old  man. 

“ I will  answer  for  it,  I bring  you  news  you  little  expect. 
Open  the  door,  then,  if  you  please,  hein  ! ” 

“Monsieur,”  persisted  the  old  man,  “do  you  believe, 
upon  your  soul  and  conscience,  that  your  news  will 
warrant  waking  the  king  ? ” 

“ For  God’s  sake,  my  dear  monsieur,  draw  your  bolts ; 
you  will  not  be  sorry,  I swear,  for  the  trouble  it  will 
give  you.  I am  worth  my  weight  in  gold,  upon  my 
honor  ! ” 

“Monsieur,  I cannot,  notwithstanding,  open  the  door 
till  you  have  told  me  your  name.” 


CONTRABAND  GOODS. 


281 


“ Must  I,  then  ? ” 

“It  is  by  the  order  of  my  master,  Monsieur.” 

“ Well,  my  name  is  — But  I warn  you  my  name  will 
tell  you  absolutely  nothing.” 

“ Never  mind  ; tell  it,  notwithstanding.” 

“Well,  I am  the  Chevalier  d’Artagnan.” 

The  voice  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  uttered  an 
exclamation. 

“ Oh  ! good  heavens  ! M.  d’Artagnan  ! What  happi- 
ness ! I could  not  help  thinking  T knew  that  voice.” 

“ Humph  ! ” said  D’Artagnan.  “ My  voice  is  known 
here  ! That ’s  flattering.” 

“ Oh  yes,  we  know  it,”  said  the  old  man,  drawing  the 
bolts ; “ and  here  is  the  proof.”  And  at  these  words  he 
let  in  D’Artagnan,  who,  by  the  light  of  the  lantern  he 
carried  in  his  hand,  recognized  his  obstinate  interlocutor. 

“Ah!  mordioux ! ” cried  he;  “why,  it  is  Parry!  I 
ought  to  have  known  that.” 

“ Parry,  — yes,  my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,  it  is  I.  What 
joy  to  see  you  once  again  ! ” 

“You  are  right  there,  — what  joy  ! ” said  D’Artagnan, 
pressing  the  old  man’s  hand.  “There,  now  you’ll  go  and 
inform  the  king,  will  you  not  1 ” 

“ But  the  king  is  asleep,  my  dear  monsieur.” 

“ Mordioux  ! then  wake  him,  He  won’t  scold  you  for 
having  disturbed  him,  I will  promise  you.” 

“ You  come  on  the  part  of  the  count,  do  you  not  1 ” 

“ Of  what  count  h ” 

“ The  Comte  de  la  Fere.” 

“ From  Athos  h My  faith ! no  ; I come  on  my  own  part. 
Come,  Parry,  quick  ! The  king,  — I want  the  king.” 
Parry  did  not  think  it  his  duty  to  resist  any  longer. 
He  had  known  D’Artagnan  long  before ; he  knew  that 
although  a Gascon,  his  words  never  promised  more  than 


282 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


they  could  stand  to.  He  crossed  a court  and  a little 
garden,  appeased  the  dog,  who  seemed  seriously  to  wish 
to  taste  the  musketeer,  and  who  went  howling  to  the 
shelter  of  a chamber  forming  the  ground-floor  of  a little 
pavilion.  Immediately  a little  dog  inhabiting  that  cham- 
ber replied  to  the  great  dog  inhabiting  the  court. 

“ Poor  king  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ these  are 
his  body-guards.  It  is  true  he  is  not  the  worse  guarded 
on  that  account.” 

“ What  is  wanted  with  me  ? ” asked  the  king,  from  the 
back  of  the  chamber. 

“ Sire,  it  is  M.  le  Chevalier  d’Artagnan,  who  brings  you 
some  news.” 

A noise  was  immediately  heard  in  the  chamber ; a door 
was  opened,  and  a flood  of  light  inundated  the  corridor 
and  the  garden.  The  king  was  working  by  the  light  of 
a lamp.  Papers  were  lying  about  upon  his  desk,  and  he 
was  engaged  upon  the  rough  draught  of  a letter  which 
showed,  by  the  numerous  erasures,  the  trouble  he  had  had 
in  writing  it. 

u Come  in,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier,”  said  he,  turning 
round.  Then,  perceiving  the  fisherman,  ‘‘What  do  you 
mean,  Parry  ? Where  is  M.  le  Chevalier  d’Artagnan  ? ” 
asked  Charles. 

“ He  is  before  you,  Sire,”  said  M.  d’Artagnan. 

“ What ! in  that  costume  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; look  at  me,  Sire.  Ho  you  not  remember  having 
seen  me  at  Blois,  in  the  antechambers  of  King  Louis 
XIV.?” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,  and  I remember  I was  much  pleased 
with  you.” 

D’Artagnan  bowed.  “ It  was  my  duty  to  conduct 
myself  as  I did,  the  moment  I knew  that  I had  the  honor 
of  being  near  your  Majesty.” 


CONTRABAND  GOODS. 


283 


“ You  bring  me  news,  do  you  say'?  ” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ From  the  King  of  France  ] ” 

“M  y faith!  no,  Sire,”  replied  D’Artagnan.  “ Your 
Majesty  must  have  seen  yonder  that  the  King  of  France 
is  occupied  only  with  his  own  majesty  1 ” 

Charles  raised  his  eyes  towards  heaven. 

“No,  Sire,  no,”  continued  D’Artagnan  ; “ I bring  news 
entirely  composed  of  personal  facts.  Nevertheless,  I hope 
your  Majesty  will  listen  to  the  facts  and  news  with  some 
favor.” 

“Speak,  Monsieur.” 

“ If  I am  not  mistaken,  Sire,  your  Majesty  spoke  a 
great  deal  at  Blois  of  the  embarrassed  state  of  affairs  in 
England.” 

Charles  colored.  “Monsieur,”  said  he,  “it  was  to  the 
King  of  France  alone  that  I related  — ” 

“Oh!  your  Majesty  is  mistaken,”  said  the  musketeer, 
coolly.  “ I know  how  to  speak  to  kings  in  misfortune.  It 
is  only  when  they  are  in  misfortune  that  they  speak  to 
me  ; once  fortunate,  they  look  upon  me  no  more.  I have, 
then,  for  your  Majesty  not  only  the  greatest  respect,  but, 
still  more,  the  most  absolute  devotion ; and  that,  believe 
me,  with  me,  Sire,  means  something.  Now,  hearing  your 
Majesty  complain  of  your  destiny,  I found  that  you  were 
noble  and  generous,  and  bore  misfortune  well.” 

“In  truth,”  said  Charles,  much  astonished,  “ I do  not 
know  wThich  I ought  to  prefer,  — your  freedom  or  your 
respect.” 

“You  will  choose  presently,  Sire,”  said  D’Artagnan. 
“ Then  your  Majesty  complained  to  your  brother,  Louis 
XIV.,  of  the  difficulty  you  experienced  in  returning  to 
England  and  regaining  your  throne,  for  want  of  men  and 
money.” 


284 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BBAGELONNE. 


Charles  allowed  a movement  of  impatience  to  escape 
him. 

“ And  the  principal  hindrance  your  Majesty  found  in 
your  way,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  “ was  a certain  general 
commanding  the  armies  of  the  Parliament,  and  who  wras 
playing  yonder  the  part  of  another  Cromwell.  Did  not 
your  Majesty  say  so  V9 

“ Yes ; hut  I repeat  to  you,  Monsieur,  those  words 
were  for  the  king’s  ears  alone.” 

“ And  you  will  see,  Sire,  that  it  is  very  fortunate  that 
they  fell  into  those  of  his  lieutenant  of  Musketeers. 
The  man  so  troublesome  to  your  Majesty  was  one 
General  Monk,  I believe ; did  I not  hear  his  name 
correctly,  Sire  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur ; but  once  more,  to  what  purpose  are 
all  these  questions  % ” 

“ Oh  ! I know  very  well,  Sire,  that  etiquette  will  not 
allow  kings  to  be  interrogated.  I hope,  however,  pres- 
ently you  will  pardon  my  want  of  etiquette.  Your 
Majesty  added  that,  notwithstanding,  if  you  could  see 
him,  confer  with  him,  and  meet  him  face  to  face,  you 
would  triumph,  either  by  force  or  persuasion,  over  that 
obstacle,  — the  only  serious  one,  the  only  insurmountable 
one,  the  only  real  one  you  met  with  on  your  road.” 

“ All  that  is  true,  Monsieur ; my  destiny,  my  future, 
my  obscurity,  or  my  glory  depends  upon  that  man ; but 
what  do  you  draw  from  that  ? ” 

“One  thing  alone, — that  if  this  General  Monk  is 
troublesome  to  the  point  you  describe,  it  would  be  ex- 
pedient to  get  rid  of  him,  your  Majesty,  or  to  make  an 
ally  of  him.” 

“ Monsieur,  a king  who  has  neither  army  nor  money, 
since  you  have  heard  my  conversation  with  my  brother 
Louis*,  has  no  means  of  acting  against  a man  like  Monk.” 


CONTRABAND  GOODS. 


285 


“Yes,  Sire,  that  was  your  opinion,  I know  very  well; 
but,  fortunately  for  you,  it  was  not  mine.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that  1 ” 

“ That,  without  an  army  and  without  a million,  I have 
done  — I myself — what  your  Majesty  thought  could  be 
done  only  with  an  army  and  a million.” 

“ How  ! What  do  you  say  ? What  have  you  done  1 ” 

“ What  have  I done  ? Eh  ! well,  Sire,  I went  yonder 
to  take  this  man  who  is  so  troublesome  to  your  Majesty.” 

“ In  England  ? ” 

“ Exactly,  Sire.” 

“ You  went  to  take  Monk  in  England  1 ” 

“ Should  I by  chance  have  done  wrong,  Sire  ? ” 

“ In  truth,  you  are  mad,  Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world,  Sire.” 

“You  have  taken  Monk  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“Where?” 

“ In  the  midst  of  his  camp.” 

The  king  trembled  with  impatience. 

“And  having  taken  him  on  the  causeway  of  Newcastle, 
I bring  him  to  your  Majesty,”  said  D’Artagnan,  simply. 

“You  bring  him  to  me  ! ” cried  the  king,  almost  indig- 
nant at  what  he  considered  a hoax. 

“ Yes,  Sire,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  in  the  same  tone,  “ I 
bring  him  to  you  ; he  is  down  below  yonder,  in  a large 
chest  pierced  with  holes,  so  as  to  allow  him  to  breathe.” 
“Good  God!” 

“ Oh  ! don’t  be  uneasy,  Sire ; we  have  taken  the  great- 
est possible  care  of  him.  He  comes  in  good  state  and  in 
perfect  condition.  Would  your  Majesty  please  to  see  him, 
to  talk  with  him,  or  to  have  him  thrown  into  the  sea  ? ” 
“Oh,  heavens !”  repeated  Charles,  “oh,  heavens!  do 
you  speak  the  truth,  Monsieur  ? Are  you  not  insulting 


286 


THE  VTCGMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


me  with  some  unworthy  pleasantry?  You  have  accorm 
plished  this  unheard-of  act  of  audacity  and  genius,  — • 
impossible  ! ” 

“ Will  your  Majesty  permit  me  to  open  the  window  ? 99 
said  D’Artagnan,  opening  it. 

The  king  had  not  time  to  say  yes.  D’Artagnan  gave 
a shrill  and  prolonged  whistle,  which  he  repeated  three 
times  through  the  silence  of  the  night. 

“ There ! ” said  he,  “ he  will  be  brought  to  your 
Majesty.,, 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  FEARS. 


287 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

IN  WHICH  D’ARTAGNAN  BEGINS  TO  FEAR  HE  HAS  PLACED 
HIS  MONEY  AND  THAT  OF  PLANCHET  IN  THE  SINKING 
FUND. 

The  king  could  not  overcome  his  surprise,  and  looked 
sometimes  at  the  smiling  face  of  the  musketeer  and 
sometimes  at  the  dark  window  which  opened  into  the 
night.  But  before  he  had  fixed  his  ideas,  eight  of 
D’Artagnan’s  men  — for  two  had  remained  to  take  care 
of  the  boat  — brought  to  the  house  where  Parry  re- 
ceived him,  that  object,  of  an  oblong  form,  which  for  the 
moment  enclosed  the  destinies  of  England.  Before  he 
left  Calais,  D’Artagnan  had  had  made  in  that  city  a sort 
of  coffin,  large  and  deep  enough  for  a man  to  turn  in  it  at 
his  ease.  The  bottom  and  sides,  properly  mattressed, 
formed  a bed  sufficiently  soft  to.  prevent  the  rolling  of  the 
ship  turning  this  kind  of  cage  into  a rat-trap.  The  little 
grating,  of  which  D’Artagnan  had  spoken  to  the  king, 
like  the  visor  of  a helmet,  was  placed  opposite  to  the 
man’s  face.  It  was  so  constructed  that,  at  the  least  cry, 
a sudden  pressure  would  stifle  that  cry,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, him  who  had  uttered  it.  D’Artagnan  was  so  well 
acquainted  with  his  crew  and  his  prisoner,  that  during 
the  whole  voyage  he  had  been  in  dread  of  two  things,  — 
either  that  the  general  would  prefer  death  to  this  sort  of 
imprisonment,  and  would  cause  himself  to  be  smothered 
by  endeavoring  to  speak ; or  that  his  guards  would  allow 
themselves  to  be  tempted  by  the  offers  of  the  prisoner, 
and  put  him,  D’Artagnan,  into  the  box  instead  of  Monk. 


288 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


D’Artagnan,  therefore,  had  passed  the  two  days  and  the 
two  nights  of  the  voyage  close  to  the  coffin,  alone  with 
the  general,  offering  him  wine  and  food,  which  he  had 
refused,  and  constantly  endeavoring  to  reassure  him  upon 
the  destiny  which  awaited  him  at  the  end  of  this  singular 
captivity.  Two  pistols  on  the  table  and  his  naked  sword 
made  D’Artagnan  easy  with  regard  to  indiscretions  from 
without.  When  once  at  Scheveningen  he  had  felt  com- 
pletely reassured.  His  men  greatly  dreaded  any  conflict 
with  the  lords  of  the  soil.  He  had,  besides,  interested  in 
his  cause  him  who  had  morally  served  him  as  lieutenant, 
and  whom  we  have  seen  reply  to  the  name  of  Menneville. 
The  latter,  not  being  a vulgar  spirit,  had  more  to  risk 
than  the  others,  because  he  had  more  conscience.  He 
had  faith  in  a future  in  the  service  of  D’Artagnan,  and 
consequently  would  have  allowed  himself  to  be  cut  to 
pieces,  rather  than  violate  the  order  given  by  his  leader. 
Thus  it  was  that,  once  landed,  it  was  to  him  D’Artagnan 
had  confided  the  care  of  the  chest  and  of  the  general’s 
respiration.  It  was  he,  too,  whom  he  had  ordered  to  have 
the  chest  brought  by  the  seven  men  as  soon  as  he  should 
hear  the  triple  whistle.  We  have  seen  that  the  lieutenant 
obeyed.  The  box  once  in  the  house,  D’Artagnan  dis- 
missed his  men  with  a gracious  smile,  saying,  “ Messieurs, 
you  have  rendered  a great  service  to  his  Majesty  King 
Charles  II.,  who  in  less  than  six  weeks  will  be  King  of 
England.  Your  gratification  will  then  be  doubled.  Re- 
turn to  the  boat  and  wait  for  me.”  Upon  which  they 
departed  with  such  shouts  of  joy  as  terrified  even  the  dog 
himself. 

D’Artagnan  had  caused  the  box  to  be  brought  into 
the  king’s  antechamber.  He  then,  with  great  care,  closed 
the  doors  of  this  antechamber,  after  which  he  opened 
the  box,  and  said  to  the  general  : “ General,  I have 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  FEARS. 


289 


a thousand  excuses  to  make  to  you.  My  manner  of 
acting  has  not  been  worthy  of  such  a man  as  you, 
I know  very  well ; but  I wished  you  to  take  me  for 
the  sea-captain.  And  then  England  is  a very  incon- 
venient country  for  transports.  I hope,  therefore,  you 
will  take  all  that  into  consideration.  But  now,  General, 
you  are  at  liberty  to  get  up  and  walk.”  This  said,  he  cut 
the  bonds  which  fastened  the  arms  and  hands  of  the  gen- 
eral. The  latter  got  up,  and  then  sat  down  with  the 
countenance  of  a man  who  expects  death.  D’Artagnan 
opened  the  door  of  Charles’s  cabinet,  and  said,  “ Sire, 
here  is  your  enemy,  M.  Monk ; I promised  myself  to 
perform  this  service  for  your  Majesty.  It  is  done ; now 
order  as  you  please.  M.  Monk,”  added  he,  turning  towards 
the  prisoner,  “you  are  in  the  presence  of  his  Majesty 
Charles  II.,  sovereign  lord  of  Great  Britain.” 

Monk  raised  towards  the  prince  his  coldly  stoical  look, 
and  replied  : “I  know  no  king  of  Great  Britain ; I recog- 
nize even  here  no  one  worthy  of  bearing  the  name  6f  gen- 
tleman : for  it  is  in  the  name  of  King  Charles  II.  that  an 
emissary,  whom  I took  for  an  honest  man,  has  come  and 
laid  an  infamous  snare  for  me.  I have  fallen  into  that 
snare  ; so  much  the  worse  for  me.  Now,  you  the  tempter,” 
said  he  to  the  king,  “you  the  executor,”  said  he  to  D’Ar- 
tagnan, “ remember  what  I am  about  to  say  to  you  : 
you  have  my  body,  you  may  kill  it ; and  I urge  you  to  do 
so,  for  you  shall  never  have  my  mind  or  my  will.  And 
now,  ask  me  not  a single  word,  for  from  this  moment  I 
will  not  open  my  mouth  even  to  cry  out.  I have  said.” 
General  Monk  pronounced  these  words  with  the  savage, 
invincible  resolution  of  a Puritan  in  a state  of  great  indig- 
nation. D’Artagnan  looked  at  his  prisoner  like  a man  who 
knows  the  value  of  every  word,  and  who  fixes  that  value  ac- 
cording to  the  accent  w7ith  which  it  has  been  pronounced. 

VOL.  i.  — 19 


200 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ The  fact  is,”  said  he,  in  a whisper  to  the  king,  “ the 
general  is  an  obstinate  man ; he  would  not  take  a mouth' 
ful  of  bread,  nor  swallow  a drop  of  wine,  during  the  two 
days  of  our  voyage.  But  as  from  this  moment  it  is  vour 
Majesty  who  must  decide  his  fate,  I wash  my  hands  of 
him.” 

Monk,  erect,  pale,  and  resigned,  waited  with  his  eyes 
fixed  and  his  arms  folded.  D’Artagnan  turned  towards 
him.  “ You  will  please  to  understand  perfectly,”  said  he, 
“ that  your  speech,  otherwise  very  fine,  does  not  suit  any- 
body,  not  even  yourself.  His  Majesty  wished  to  speak 
to  you ; you  refused  him  an  interview.  Why,  now  that 
you  are  face  to  face,  that  you  are  here  by  a force  inde- 
pendent of  your  will,  — why  do  you  confine  yourself  to  rig- 
ors which  I consider  as  useless  and  absurd  ? Speak  ! 
what  the  devil ! speak,  if  only  to  say  ‘ No.’  ” 

Monk  did  not  unclose  his  lips ; he  did  not  turn  his 
eyes;  he  stroked  his  mustache  with  a thoughtful  air, 
which  announced  that  matters  were  going  on  badly. 

During  all  this  time  Charles  II.  had  fallen  into  a pro- 
found reverie.  For  the  first  time  he  found  himself  face 
to  face  with  Monk,  — that  is  to  say,  with  the  man  he  had 
so  much  desired  to  see ; and  with  that  peculiar  glance 
which  God  has  given  to  eagles  and  kings,  he  had  fathomed 
the  abyss  of  his  heart.  He  beheld  Monk,  then,  resolved 
positively  to  die  rather  than  speak,  — which  was  not  to 
be  wondered  at  in  so  considerable  a man,  the  wound 
in  whose  mind  must  at  the  moment  have  been  severe. 
Charles  II.  formed,  on  the  instant,  one  of  those  resolutions 
upon  which  an  ordinary  man  stakes  his  life,  a general  his 
fortune,  and  a king  his  kingdom.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he 
to  Monk,  “you  are  perfectly  right  upon  certain  points; 
I do  not,  therefore,  ask  you  to  answer  me,  but  to  listen 
to  me.” 


D'ARTAGNAN’S  fears. 


291 


There  was  a moment’s  silence,  during  which  the  king 
looked  at  Monk,  who  remained  impassive. 

“ You  have  made  me  just  now  a painful  reproach,  Mon- 
sieur,” continued  the  king;  “ you  said  that  one  of  my 
emissaries  had  been  to  Newcastle  to  lay  a snare  for  you  ; 
and  that,  by  the  way,  cannot  be  understood  by  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  here,  and  to  whom,  before  everything,  I owe  sin- 
cere thanks  for  his  generous,  his  heroic  devotion.” 

D’Artagnan  bowed  with  respect ; Monk  took  no  notice. 

“ For  M.  d’Artagnan,  — and  observe,  M.  Monk,  I do 
not  say  this  to  excuse  mj^self,  — for  M.  d’Artagnan,”  con- 
tinued the  king,  “ has  gone  into  England  on  his  own 
proper  movement,  without  interest,  without  orders,  with- 
out hope,  like  a true  gentleman  as  he  is,  to  render  a ser- 
vice to  an  unfortunate  king,  and  to  add  to  the  illustrious 
actions  of  an  existence  already  so  well  filled,  one  fine 
action  more.” 

D’Artagnan  colored  a little,  and  coughed  to  keep  his 
countenance.  Monk  did  not  stir. 

“ You  do  not  believe  what  I tell  you,  M.  Monk,”  con- 
tinued the  king.  “ 1 can  understand  that ; such  proofs 
of  devotion  are  so  rare,  that  their  reality  may  well  be 
put  in  doubt.” 

“ Monsieur  would  do  wrong  not  to  believe  you,  Sire,” 
cried  D’Artagnan;  “for  that  which  your  Majesty  has 
said  is  the  exact  truth,  and  the  truth  so  exact  that  it 
appears,  in  going  to  fetch  the  general,  I have  done  some- 
thing which  sets  everything  wrong.  In  truth,  if  it  be  so, 
I am  in  despair.” 

“Monsieur  d’Artagnan,”  said  the  king,  pressing  the 
hand  of  the  musketeer,  “you  have  obliged  me  more  than 
if  you  had  promoted  the  success  of  my  cause;  for  you 
have  revealed  to  me  an  unknown  friend,  to  whom  I 
shall  ever  be  grateful,  and  whom  I shall  always  love ; 


292 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and/’  continued  he,  bowing  to  Monk,  “ an  enemy  whom 
I shall  henceforth  esteem  at  his  proper  value.” 

The  eyes  of  the  Puritan  flashed,  but  only  once ; and  his 
countenance,  for  an  instant  illumined  by  that  flash,  re- 
sumed its  sombre  impassiveness. 

“Then,  M.  d’Artagnan,”  continued  Charles,  “this  is 
what  was  about  to  happen ; M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere, 
— whom  you  know,  I believe,  — has  set  out  for  New- 
castle.” 

“Attics'?”  exclaimed  D’Artagnan. 

“ Yes ; that  was  his  nom  de  guerre , I believe.  The  Comte 
de  la  Fere  had,  then,  set  out  for  Newcastle,  and  was  going, 
perhaps,  to  bring  the  general  to  hold  a conference  with 
me  or  with  those  of  my  party,  when  you  violently,  as  it 
appears,  interfered  with  the  negotiation.” 

“ Mordioux  ! ” replied  D’Artagnan,  “it  was  he,  without 
doubt,  who  entered  the  camp  the  very  evening  in  which  I 
succeeded  in  getting  into  it  with  my  fishermen  — ” 

An  almost  imperceptible  frown  on  the  brow  of  Monk 
told  D’Artagnan  that  he  had  surmised  rightly. 

“ Yes,  yes,”  muttered  he ; “ I thought  I knew  his  per- 
son ; I even  fancied  I knew  his  voice.  Unlucky  wretch 
that  I am  ! Oh,  Sire,  pardon  me ! I thought  1 had  so 
successfully  steered  my  bark.” 

“There  is  nothing  ill  in  it,  Monsieur,”  said  the  king, 
“ except  that  the  general  accuses  me  of  having  laid  a 
snare  for  him,  which  is  not  the  case.  No,  General,  those 
are  not  the  arms  which  I contemplated  employing  with 
you,  as  you  will  soon  see.  In  the  mean  while,  when  I give 
you  my  word  upon  the  honor  of  a gentleman,  believe  me, 
Monsieur,  believe  me  ! Nowr,  M.  d’Artagnan,  a word 
with  you,  if  you  please.” 

“ I listen  on  my  knees,  Sire.” 

“ You  are  truly  at  my  service,  are  you  not1?” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  FEARS. 


293 


“ Your  Majesty  has  seen  that  I am,  — too  much  so.” 

“ That  is  well ; from  a man  like  you  one  word  suffices. 
In  addition  to  that  word  you  bring  actions.  General, 
have  the  goodness  to  follow  me.  Come  with  us,  M. 
d’Artagnan.  ” 

D’Artagnan,  considerably  surprised,  prepared  to  obey. 
Charles  II.  went  out,  Monk  following  him  ; D’Artagnan 
followed  Monk.  Charles  took  the  path  by  which  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  come  to  his  abode ; the  fresh  sea-breezes  soon 
saluted  the  faces  of  the  three  nocturnal  travellers,  and,  at 
fifty  paces  from  the  little  gate  which  Charles  opened,  they 
found  themselves  upon  the  dune  in  face  of  the  ocean, 
which,  having  ceased  to  rise,  reposed  upon  the  shore  like 
a monster  fatigued.  Charles  II.  walked  along  pensively, 
his  head  hanging  down  and  his  hand  beneath  his  cloak. 
Monk  followed  him,  with  crossed  arms  and  an  uneasy 
look.  D’Artagnan  came  last,  with  his  hand  on  the  hilt 
of  his  sword. 

“ Where  is  the  boat  in  which  you  came,  gentlemen  'l  ” 
said  Charles  to  the  musketeer. 

“ Yonder,  Sire;  I have  seven  men  and  an  officer 
waiting  for  me  in  that  little  boat  which  is  lighted  by 
a fire.” 

“ Yes,  I see  ; the  boat  is  drawn  up  upon  the  sand.  But 
you  certainly  did  not  come  from  Newcastle  in  that  frail 
bark  1 ” 

“ No,  Sire;  I hired  a felucca  on  my  own  account,  which 
is  at  anchor  within  cannon-shot  of  the  dunes.  It  was  in 
that  felucca  we  made  the  voyage.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king  to  Monk,  “you  are  free.” 

However  firm  of  will,  Monk  could  not  suppress  an  ex- 
clamation. The  king  added  an  affirmative  motion  of  his 
head,  and  continued  : “We  will  waken  a fisherman  of  the 
village,  who  will  put  his  boat  to  sea  immediately,  and  will 


29  i 


THE  VTCOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


take  you  back  to  any  place  you  may  command  him.  M. 
d’Artagnan  here  will  escort  your  Honor.  I place  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  under  the  safeguard  of  your  loyalty,  M.  Monk.” 

Monk  allowed  a murmur  of  surprise  to  escape  him,  and 
D’Artagnan  a profound  sigh.  The  king,  without  appear- 
ing to  notice  either,  knocked  against  the  deal  trellis  which 
enclosed  the  cabin  of  the  principal  fisherman  inhabiting 
the  dune. 

“ Holloa  ! Keyser ! ” cried  he,  “ awake  ! ” 

“ Who  calls  me  ? ” asked  the  fisherman. 

“ I,  — Charles,  the  king.” 

“ Ah  ! my  Lord,”  cried  Keyser,  rising  ready  dressed 
from  the  sail  in  which  he  slept  as  people  sleep  in  a ham- 
mock ; “ what  can  I do  to  serve  you  'l  ” 

“ Captain  Keyser,”  said  Charles,  “ you  must  set  sail  im- 
mediately. Here  is  a traveller  who  wishes  to  freight  your 
bark,  and  will  pay  you  well ; use  him  well ; ” and  the 
king  drew  back  a few  steps  to  allow  Monk  to  speak  to  the 
fisherman. 

“ I wish  to  cross  over  into  England,”  said  Monk,  who 
spoke  Dutch  enough  to  make  himself  understood. 

“ This  minute,”  said  the  captain,  — “ this  very  minute, 
if  you  wish  it.” 

“ But  will  that  be  long  ? ” said  Monk. 

“ Not  half  an  hour,  your  Honor.  My  eldest  son  is  at 
this  moment  preparing  the  boat,  as  we  were  going  out 
fishing  at  three  o’clock  in  the  morning.” 

“Well,  is  all  arranged'?”  asked  the  king,  drawing 
near. 

“ All  but  the  price,”  said  the  fisherman ; “yes,  Sire.” 

“That  is  my  affair,”  said  Charles;  “the  gentleman  is 
my  friend.” 

Monk  started  and  looked  at  Charles,  on  hearing  this 
word. 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  FEARS. 


295 


“ Very  well,  my  Lord,”  replied  Keyser ; and  at  that 
moment  they  heard  Keyser’s  eldest  son,  signalling  from 
the  shore  with  the  blast  of  a bull’s  horn. 

“ Now,  gentlemen,”  said  the  king,  “ be  gone  ! ” 

“ Sire,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ will  it  please  your  Majesty 
to  grant  me  a few  minutes  ] I have  engaged  men,  and  I 
am  going  without  them  ; I must  give  them  notice.” 

“ Whistle  to  them,”  said  Charles,  smiling. 

D’Artagnan  accordingly  whistled,  while  Captain  Key- 
ser replied  to  his  son  ; and  four  men,  led  by  Menneville, 
attended  the  first  summons. 

“ Here  is  some  money  on  account,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
putting  into  their  hands  a purse  containing  twenty-five 
hundred  livres  in  gold.  “ Go  and  wait  for  me  at  Calais  ; 
you  know  where ; ” and  D’Artagnan  heaved  a pro- 
found sigh  as  he  let  the  purse  fall  into  the  hands  of 
Menneville. 

“ What ! are  you  leaving  us  'l  ” cried  the  men. 

“For  a short  time,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “or  for  a long 
time,  who  knows  1 But  with  twenty-five  hundred  livres, 
and  the  twenty-five  hundred  you  have  already  received, 
you  are  paid  according  to  our  agreement.  We  are  quits, 
then,  my  friends.” 

“ But  the  boat  i ” 

“Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that.” 

“ Our  things  are  on  board  the  felucca.” 

“ Go  and  seek  them,  and  afterwards  set  off  imme- 
diately.” 

“Yes,  Captain.” 

D’Artagnan  returned  to  Monk,  saying,  “ Monsieur,  I 
await  your  orders ; for  I understand  we  are  to  go  together, 
unless  my  company  be  disagreeable  to  you.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk. 

“Come,  gentlemen,  on  board,”  said  Keyser’s  son. 


290 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Charles  bowed  to  the  general  with  grace  and  dignity, 
saying,  “You  will  pardon  me  this  unfortunate  accident, 
and  the  violence  to  which  you  have  been  subjected,  when 
you  are  convinced  that  T was  not  the  cause  of  them.” 
Monk  bowed  profoundly  without  replying.  On  his  side 
Charles  affected  not  to  say  a Word  to  D’Artagnan  in  pri- 
vate, but  aloud  : “ Once  more,  thanks,  Monsieur  the 
Chevalier, ” said  he,  “ thanks  for  your  services.  They  will 
be  repaid  you  by  the  Lord  God,  who,  I hope,  reserves  for 
me  alone  trials  and  troubles.” 

Monk  followed  Keyser  and  his  son,  and  embarked  with 
them.  D’Artagnan  came  after,  muttering  to  himself, 
“ Ah,  my  poor  Planchet ! I am  very  much  afraid  we 
have  made  a bad  speculation.” 


THE  SHARES  OE  THE  COMPANY  RISE  AGAIN.  297 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

THE  SHARES  OF  PLANCHET  AND  COMPANY  RISE  AGAIN 
TO  PAR. 

During  the  passage  Monk  spoke  to  D’Artagnan  only  in 
cases  of  urgent  necessity.  Thus,  when  the  Frenchman 
hesitated  to  come  and  take  his  repast,  — a poor  repast  com- 
posed of  salt  fish,  biscuit,  and  Hollands  gin,  — Monk  called 
him,  saying,  “ To  table,  Monsieur!”  This  was  all.  D’Ar- 
tagnan,  because  he  himself  was  on  all  great  occasions 
extremely  concise,  did  not  draw  from  the  general’s  con- 
ciseness a favorable  augury  of  the  result  of  his  mission. 
Now,  as  he  had  plenty  of  time  for  reflection,  he  battered 
his  brains  during  this  time  in  endeavoring  to  find  out 
how  Athos  had  seen  King  Charles,  how  he  had  planned 
with  him  that  expedition,  and  lastly,  how  he  had  entered 
Monk’s  camp ; and  the  poor  lieutenant  of  Musketeers 
plucked  a hair  from  his  mustache  every  time  he  reflected 
that  the  cavalier  who  accompanied  Monk  on  the  night  of 
the  famous  abduction  must  have  been  Athos.  At  length, 
after  a passage  of  two  nights  and  two  days,  Captain 
Keyser  touched  the  point  where  Monk,  who  had  given 
all  orders  during  the  voyage,  had  commanded  they  should 
land.  It  was  exactly  at  the  mouth  of  the  little  river 
near  which  Athos  had  chosen  his  abode.  Day  was  de- 
clining; a splendid  sun,  like  a red  steel  buckler,  was 
plunging  the  lower  extremity  of  his  disk  under  the  blue 
line  of  the  sea.  The  felucca  was  making  fair  way  up 
the  river,  tolerably  wide  in  that  part ; but  Monk,  in  his 


298 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


impatience,  desired  to  be  landed,  and  Keysets  boat  placed 
him  and  D’Artagnan  upon  the  muddy  bank,  amidst  the 
reeds.  D’Artagnan,  resigned  to  obedience,  followed  Monk 
exactly  as  a chained  bear  follows  his  master ; but  the 
position  humiliated  him  not  a little,  and  he  grumbled  to 
himself  that  the  service  of  kings  was  a bitter  one,  and 
that  the  best  of  them  was  good  for  nothing.  Monk 
walked  with  long  and  hasty  strides;  it  might  be  thought 
that  he  did  not  yet  feel  certain  of  having  regained  Eng- 
lish soil.  They  had  already  begun  to  perceive  distinctly 
a few  of  the  cottages  of  the  sailors  and  fishermen  spread 
over  the  little  quay  of  this  humble  port,  when,  all  at 
once,  D’ Art agnan  cried  out,  “ God  pardon  me,  there  is 
a house  on  fire  ! ” 

Monk  raised  his  eyes,  and  perceived  that  there  was,  in 
fact,  a house  which  the  flames  were  beginning  to  devour. 
It  had  begun  at  a little  shed  belonging  to  the  house,  the 
roof  of  which  it  had  seized  upon.  The  fresh  evening 
breeze  increased  the  flame.  The  two  travellers  quickened 
their  steps,  hearing  loud  cries,  and  seeing,  as  they  drew 
nearer,  soldiers  with  their  glittering  arms  pointing  to- 
wards the  house  on  fire.  It  was,  doubtless,  this  men- 
acing occupation  which  had  made  them  neglect  to  signal 
the  felucca.  Monk  stopped  short  for  an  instant,  and  for 
the  first  time  formulated  his  thoughts  in  words.  “Eh! 
but,,,  said  he,  “ perhaps  they  are  not  my  soldiers,  but 
Lambert’s.” 

These  words  contained  at  once  a pain,  an  apprehension, 
and  a reproach  perfectly  intelligible  to  D’Artagnan.  In 
fact,  during  the  general’s  absence,  Lambert  might  have 
given  battle,  conquered,  and  dispersed  the  Parliament’s 
army,  and  taken  with  his  own  the  place  of  Monk’s  army, 
deprived  of  its  strongest  support.  At  this  doubt,  which 
passed  from  the  mind  of  Monk  to  his  own,  D’  Art  agnan 


THE  SHARES  OF  THE  COMPANY  RISE  AGAIN,  299 

made  this  reasoning  : “ One  of  two  things  is  going  to 
happen  : either  Monk  has  spoken  correctly,  and  there  are 
no  longer  any  but  Lambertists  in  the  country,  — that  is 
to  say,  enemies  who  would  receive  me  wonderfully  well, 
since  it  is  to  me  they  owe  their  victory,  — or  nothing  is 
changed,  and  Monk,  transported  with  joy  at  finding  his 
camp  still  in  the  same  place,  will  not  prove  too  severe 
in  his  reprisals.”  While  thinking  thus,  the  two  travel- 
lers advanced,  and  found  themselves  surrounded  by  a 
little  knot  of  sailors,  who  looked  on  with  sorrow  at  the 
burning  house,  but  did  not  dare  to  say  anything,  on 
account  of  the  menaces  of  the  soldiers.  Monk  ad- 
dressed one  of  these  sailors.  “ What  is  going  on  here  ? ” 
asked  he. 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  man,  not  recognizing  Monk  as 
an  officer,  under  the  thick  cloak  which  enveloped  him, 

“ that  house  was  inhabited  by  a foreigner,  and  this  for- 
eigner became  suspected  by  the  soldiers.  Then  they 
wanted  to  get  into  his  house  under  the  pretence  of  taking 
him  to  the  camp ; but  he,  without  being  frightened  by 
their  numbers,  threatened  death  to  the  first  who  should 
cross  the  threshold  of  his  door  ; and  as  there  was  one 
who  did  venture,  the  Frenchman  stretched  him  on  the 
earth  with  a pistol-shot.” 

u Ah  ! he  is  a Frenchman,  is  he  ? ” said  D’Artagnan, 
rubbing  his  hands.  “ Good  ! 99 

“ How  good  ? ” replied  the  fishermen. 

“No,  I don’t  mean  that.  Next? — my  tongue  tripped.” 

“ Next,  Monsieur  ? Why,  the  other  men  became  as 
enraged  as  so  many  lions ; they  fired  more  than  a hun-  - 
dred  shots  at  the  house;  but  the  Frenchman  wTas  shel- 
tered by  the  wall,  and  every  time  they  tried  to  enter  by 
the  door  they  met  with  a shot  from  his  lackey,  whose 
aim  is  deadly,  d’  ye  see?  Every  time  they  threatened  the 


300 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


window,  they  met  with  a pistol-shot  from  the  master. 
Look  and  count ; there  are  seven  men  down.” 

“Ah!  my  brave  compatriot,”  cried  D’Artagnan,  “wait 
a little,  wait  a little.  I will  be  with  you  ; and  we  will 
give  an  account  of  all  this  rabble.” 

“One  instant,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk;  “wait.” 

“ Long  ? ” 

“No;  only  time  to  ask  a question.”  Then,  turn- 
ing towards  the  sailor,  “ My  friend,”  asked  he,  with 
an  emotion  which,  in  spite  of  all  his  self-command,  he 
could  not  conceal,  “ whose  soldiers  are  these,  pray  tell 
me?” 

“ Whose  should  they  be  but  that  madman  Monk’s?” 

“ There  has  been  no  battle,  then  ? ” 

“ A battle,  yes  ! but  with  what  result  ? Lambert’s  army 
is  melting  away  like  snow  in  April.  All  come  to  Monk, 
officers  and  soldiers.  In  a week  Lambert  won’t  have 
fifty  men  left.” 

The  fisherman  was  interrupted  by  a fresh  salvo  of  mus- 
ketry discharged  against  the  house,  and  by  another  pistol- 
shot  which  replied  to  the  salvo,  and  struck  down  the 
most  daring  of  the  aggressors.  The  rage  of  the  soldiers 
was  at  its  height.  The  fire  still  continued  to  increase, 
and  a crest  of  flame  and  smoke  whirled  and  spread  over 
the  roof  of  the  house.  D’Artagnan  could  no  longer  con- 
tain himself.  “ Mordioux ! ” said  he  to  Monk,  glancing 
at  him  sideways  ; “ are  you  a general,  and  allow  your 
men  to  burn  houses  and  assassinate  people,  while  you 
look  on  and  warm  your  hands  at  the  blaze  of  the  confla- 
gration ? Mordioux  ! you  are  not  a man.” 

“ Patience,  Monsieur,  patience  ! ” said  Monk,  smiling. 

“ Patience  ! yes,  until  that  brave  gentleman  is  roasted 
— is  that  what  you  mean?”  and  D’Artagnan  rushed 
forward. 


THE  SHARES  OF  THE  COMPANY  RISE  AGAIN.  301 


“ Remain  where  you  are,  Monsieur,”  said  Monk,  in  a 
tone  of  command  ; and  he  advanced  towards  the  house 
just  as  an  officer  had  approached  it,  who  said  to  the  be- 
sieged : “ The  house  is  burning  ; you  will  be  grilled  within 
an  hour!  There  is  still  time, — come,  tell  us  what  you 
know  of  General  Monk,  and  we  will  spare  your  life.  Re- 
ply, or  by  St.  Patrick  — ” 

The  besieged  made  no  answer ; he  was  no  doubt  reload- 
ing his  pistol. 

“ They  have  gone  for  reinforcements,”  continued  the 
officer ; “ in  a quarter  of  an  hour  there  will  be  a hundred 
men  round  your  house.” 

“I  reply  to  you  !”  said  the  Frenchman.  “Let  your 
men  be  sent  away ; I will  come  out  freely  and  repair  to 
the  camp  alone,  or  else  I will  be  killed  here  ! ” 

“ Mille  tonneri'es  ! ” shouted  D’Artagnan  ; “ why,  that ’s 
the  voice  of  Athos  ! Ah,  villains  ! ” and  the  sword  of 
D’Artagnan  flamed  from  its  sheath. 

Monk  stopped  him,  and  advanced  himself,  exclaiming, 
in  a sonorous  voice  : “ Holloa  ! what  is  going  on  here  ] 
Digby,  whence  is  this  fire  ? why  these  cries  h ” 

“ The  general ! ” cried  Digby,  letting  the  point  of  his 
sword  fall. 

“ The  general  ! ” repeated  the  soldiers. 

“ Well,  what  is  there  so  astonishing  in  that  1 ” said 
Monk,  in  a calm  tone.  Then,  silence  being  re-established, 
“ Now,”  said  he,  “ who  lit  this  fire  ? ” 

The  soldiers  hung  down  their  heads. 

“What ! do  I ask  a question  and  nobody  answers  me  V} 
said  Monk.  “ What  ! do  I find  a fault,  and  nobody  re- 
pairs it  1 The  fire  is  still  burning,  I believe.” 

Immediately  the  twenty  men  rushed  forward,  seizing 
pails,  buckets,  jars,  barrels,  and  extinguishing  the  fire 
with  as  much  ardor  as  they  had,  an  instant  before. 


302 


the:  vicomte:  de  bragelonne. 


employed  in  promoting  it.  But  already,  and  before  all 
the  rest,  D’Artagnan  had  applied  a ladder  to  the  house, 
crying,  “ Athos  ! it  is  I,  it  is  I,  D’Artagnan  ! Do  not 
kill  me,  dear  friend  ! ” and  in  a moment  the  count  was 
clasped  in  his  arms. 

In  the  mean  time  Grimaud,  preserving  his  calm  air, 
dismantled  the  fortification  of  the  ground  floor,  and  after 
having  opened  the  door,  stood,  with  his  arms  crossed, 
quietly  on  the  threshold.  Only,  at  hearing  the  voice  of 
D’Artagnan,  he  had  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 
The  fire  being  extinguished,  the  soldiers  presented  them- 
selves abashed,  Digby  at  their  head. 

“ General,”  said  he,  “excuse  ns;  what  we  have  done 
was  for  the  love  of  your  Honor,  whom  we  thought  lost.” 
“You  are  mad,  gentlemen.  Lost!  Is  a man  like  me 
to  be  lost  ] Am  I not,  by  chance,  to  be  permitted  to  be 
absent,  according  to  my  pleasure,  without  giving  formal 
notice  % Do  you,  by  chance,  take  me  for  a citizen  from 
the  city  ] Is  a gentleman,  my  friend,  my  guest,  to  be  be- 
sieged, entrapped,  and  threatened  with  death  because  he 
is  suspected  ? What  signifies  that  word,  ‘ suspected  D God 
damn  me  if  I don’t  have  every  one  of  you  shot  that  the 
brave  gentleman  has  left  alive  ! ” 

“ General,”  said  Digby,  piteously,  “ there  were  twenty- 
eight  of  us  ; and  see,  there  are  eight  on  the  ground.” 

“ I authorize  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  to  send  the 
twenty  to  join  the  eight,”  said  Monk,  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  Athos.  a Let  them  return  to  camp. 
Digby,  you  will  consider  yourself  under  arrest  for  a 
month.” 

“ General  — ” 

“ That  is  to  teach  you,  Monsieur,  not  to  act  another 
time  without  orders.” 

“ I had  those  of  the  lieutenant,  General.” 


THE  SHARES  OF  THE  COMPANY  RISE  AGAIN.  303 


“ The  lieutenant  has  no  such  orders  to  give  you  ; and  he 
shall  be  placed  under  arrest,  instead  of  you,  if  he  has 
really  commanded  you  to  burn  this  gentleman.” 

“He  did  not  command  that,  General;  he  commanded 
us  to  bring  him  to  the  camp  ; but  the  count  was  not  will- 
ing to  follow  ns.” 

“ I was  not  willing  that  they  should  enter  and  plunder 
my  house,”  said  Athos  to  Monk,  with  a significant  look. 

“ And  you  were  quite  right.  — To  the  camp,  I say.” 
The  soldiers  departed  with  dejected  looks.  “Now  we  are 
alone,”  said  Monk  to  Athos,  “'have  the  goodness  to  tell 
me,  Monsieur,  why  you  persisted  in  remaining  here  while 
you  had  your  felucca  — ” 

“ I waited  for  you,  General,”  said  Athos.  “ Had  not 
your  Honor  appointed  me  a meeting  in  a week  ? ” 

An  eloquent  look  from  H’Artagnan  made  it  clear  to 
Monk  that  these  two  men,  so  brave. and  so  loyal,  had  not 
acted  in  concert  for  his  abduction.  He  knew  already  that 
it  could  not  be  so. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  he  to  H’Artagnan,  “ you  were  per- 
fectly right.  Have  the  kindness  to  allow  me  a moment’s 
conversation  with  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere.” 

H’Artagnan  took  advantage  of  this  to  go  and  ask 
Grimaud  how  he  did.  Monk  requested  Athos  to  conduct 
him  to  the  chamber  he  lived  in. 

This  chamber  was  still  full  of  smoke  and  rubbish. 
More  than  fifty  balls  had  passed  through  the  windows 
and  mutilated  the  walls.  They  found  a table,  inkstand, 
and  materials  for  writing.  Monk  took  up  a pen,  wrote  a 
single  line,  signed  it,  folded  the  paper,  sealed  the  let- 
ter with  the  seal  of  his  ring,  and  passed  over  the  missive 
to  Athos,  saying,  “ Monsieur,  carry,  if  you  please,  this 
letter  to  King  Charles  II.,  and  set  out  immediately,  if 
nothing  detains  you  here  any  longer.” 


304 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ And  the  casks  ? ” said  Athos. 

“ The  fisherman  who  brought  me  hither  will  assist  you 
in  transporting  them  on  board.  Be  gone,  if  possible, 
within  an  hour.” 

“ Yes,  General,”  said  Athos. 

“ M.  d’Artagnan ! ” cried  Monk,  from  the  window. 
D’Artagnan  ran  up  precipitately.  “ Embrace  your  friend 
and  bid  him  adieu,  Monsieur;  he  is  returning  to  Holland.” 
“ To  Holland  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan  ; “ and  I ? ” 
u You  are  at  liberty  to  follow  him,  Monsieur ; but  I 
request  you  to  remain,”  said  Monk.  “ Will  you  refuse 
me?” 

“Oh  no,  General ; I am  at  your  orders.” 

D’Artagnan  embraced  Athos,  and  had  only  time  to  bid 
him  adieu.  Monk  watched  them  both.  Then  he  took 
upon  himself  the  preparations  for  the  departure,  the 
carrying  of  the  casks,  on  board,  and  the  embarkation  of 
Athos ; then,  taking  D’Artagnan  by  the  arm,  who  was 
quite  amazed  and  agitated,  he  led  him  towards  Newcastle. 
While  going  along,  arm  in  arm  with  Monk,  D’Artagnan 
could  not  help  murmuring  to  himself,  “ Come,  come,  it 
seems  to  me  that  the  shares  of  the  house  of  Planchet  & 
Co.  are  rising.” 


MONK  REVEALS  HIMSELF. 


305 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MONK  REVEALS  HIMSELF. 

D’Artagnan,  although  he  flattered  himself  with  better 
success,  had,  nevertheless,  not  too  well  comprehended  his 
situation.  It  was  a strange  and  grave  subject  for  him  to 
reflect  upon,  — this  voyage  of  Athos  into  England;  this 
league  of  the  king  with  Athos,  and  that  extraordinary 
combination  of  his  design  with  that  of  the  Comte  de  la 
Fere.  The  best  way  was  to  let  things  follow  their  own 
train.  An  imprudence  had  been  committed ; and  while 
having  succeeded  as  he  had  promised,  D’Artagnan  found 
that  he  had  gained  no  advantage  by  his  success.  Since 
everything  was  lost,  he  could  risk  no  more.  D’Artagnan 
followed  Monk  to  the  middle  of  his  camp.  The  return 
of  the  general  had  produced  a marvellous  effect,  for  his 
people  had  thought  him  lost.  But  Monk,  with  his  austere 
look  and  icy  demeanor,  appeared  to  ask  of  his  eager  lieu- 
tenants and  delighted  soldiers  the  cause  of  all  this  joy. 
Therefore  to  the  lieutenant  who  had  come  to  meet  him, 
and  who  expressed  the  uneasiness  with  which  they  had 
learned  his  departure,  “ Why  is  all  this?  ” said  he  ; “ am 
I obliged  to  render  an  account  of  myself  to  you  ? ” 

“ But,  your  Honor,  the  sheep  may  well  tremble  without 
the  shepherd.” 

“ Tremble  ! ” replied  Monk,  with  his  calm  and  power- 
ful voice  ; “ah,  Monsieur,  what  a word  ! Curse  me  ! if  my 
sheep  have  not  both  teeth  and  claws,  I renounce  being 
their  shepherd.  Ah  ! you  tremble,  Monsieur  ! ” 
vol.  i.  — 20 


306 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Yes,  General,  for  you.” 

“ Oh,  pray  meddle  with  your  own  concerns  ! If  I have 
not  the  wit  God  gave  to  Oliver  Cromwell,  I have  that 
which  he  has  sent  to  me ; I am  satisfied  with  it,  however 
little  it  may  be.” 

The  officer  made  no  reply ; and,  Monk  having  imposed 
silence  on  his  people,  all  remained  persuaded  that  he  had 
accomplished  some  important  work,  or  had  tried  an  ex- 
periment upon  them.  This  was  forming  a very  poor  con- 
ception of  his  patient  and  scrupulous  genius.  Monk,  if 
he  had  the  good  faith  of  the  Puritans,  his  allies,  must 
have  returned  thanks  with  much  fervor  to  the  patron 
saint  who  had  taken  him  from  the  box  of  M.  d’Artagnan. 

While  these  things  were  going  on,  our  musketeer  could 
not  help  constantly  repeating  : “ God  grant  that  M.  Monk 
may  not  have  as  much  self-love  as  I have ; for  I declare, 
if  any  one  had  put  me  into  a box  with  that  grating  over 
my  mouth,  and  carried  me  so  packed  up,  like  a calf,  across 
the  seas,  I should  retain  such  an  ill  remembrance  of  my 
pitiful  appearance  in  that  box,  and  such  a deadly  hatred 
against  him  who  had  enclosed  me  in  it,  — I should  so  much 
dread  to  see  a sarcastic  smile  blooming  upon  the  face  of 
the  malicious  wretch,  or  in  his  attitude  some  grotesque 
imitation  of  my  position  in  the  box,  — that,  mordioux  ! I 
should  plunge  a good  poniard  into  his  throat  in  com- 
pensation of  the  grating,  and  should  nail  him  down  in 
a veritable  bier,  in  remembrance  of  the  false  coffin  in 
which  I had  been  left  two  days  to  gather  ihould.”  And 
D’Artagnan  spoke  honestly  when  he  spoke  thus ; for  the 
skin  of  our  Gascon  was  very  thin.  Monk,  fortunately, 
entertained  other  ideas.  He  never  opened  his  mouth 
concerning  the  past  to  his  timid  conqueror;  but  he 
admitted  him  very  near  to  his  person  in  his  labors,  took 
him  with  him  to  several  reconnoissances , in  such  a way  as 


MONK  REVEALS  HIMSELF. 


307 


to  obtain  that  which  he  evidently  warmly  desired,  — a 
rehabilitation  in  the  mind  of  D’Artagnan.  The  latter 
conducted  himself  like  a passed  master  in  the  art  of 
flattery  : he  admired  all  Monk’s  tactics,  and  the  ordering 
of  his  camp;  he  joked  very  pleasantly  upon  the  circum 
vallations  of  Lambert,  who  had,  he  said,  very  uselessly 
given  himself  the  trouble  to  enclose  a camp  for  twenty 
thousand  men,  while  an  acre  of  ground  would  have  been 
quite  sufficient  for  the  corporal  and  fifty  guards  who  would 
perhaps  remain  faithful  to  him.  Monk,  immediately  after 
his  arrival,  had  accepted  the  proposition  which  was  made 
by  Lambert,  the  evening  before,  for  an  interview,  and 
which  Monk’s  lieutenants  had  refused,  under  the  pre- 
text that  the  general  was  indisposed.  This  interview 
was  neither  long  nor  interesting.  Lambert  demanded  a 
profession  of  faith  of  his  rival.  The  latter  declared  he 
had  no  other  opinion  but  that  of  the  majority.  Lambert 
asked  if  it  would  not  be  more  expedient  to  terminate 
the  quarrel  by  an  alliance  than  by  a battle.  Monk  there- 
upon required  a week  for  consideration.  Now,  Lambert 
could  not  refuse  this ; even  though  he  had  come  saying 
that  he  should  devour  the  army  of  Monk.  Therefore,  as 
at  the  end  of  the  interview,  which  Lambert’s  party  awaited 
with  impatience,  nothing  was  decided,  — neither  treaty 
nor  battle,  — the  rebel  army,  as  M.  d’Artagnan  had  fore- 
seen, began  to  prefer  the  good  cause  to  the  bad  one,  and 
the  Parliament,  “ Rump  ” though  it  was,  to  the  pompous 
nothings  of  the  designs  of  Lambert.  They  remembered, 
likewise,  the  good  repasts  of  London,  — the  profusion  of 
ale  and  sherry  with  which  the  citizens  of  London  paid 
their  friends  the  soldiers ; they  looked  with  terror  at  the 
black  war  bread,  at  the  troubled  waters  of  the  Tweed,  — 
too  salt  for  the  glass,  not  enough  so  for  the  pot ; and  they 
said  to  themselves,  “ Shall  we  not  be  better  off  on  the 


308 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


other  side  ? Are  not  the  roast  meats  kept  warm  for  Monk 
in  London?”  From  that  time  nothing  but  desertion  was 
heard  of  in  Lambert’s  army.  The  soldiers  allowed  them- 
selves to  be  drawn  away  by  the  force  of  principles,  which 
are,  like  discipline,  the  obligatory  tie  in  everybody  con- 
stituted for  any  purpose.  Monk  defended  the  Parliament ; 
Lambert  attacked  it.  Monk  had  no  more  inclination  to 
support  the  Parliament  than  Lambert  had ; but  he  had 
it  inscribed  upon  his  standards,  so  that  all  those  of  the 
contrary  party  were  reduced  to  write  upon  theirs,  “ Re- 
bellion,” which  sounded  ill  in  Puritan  ears.  They  flocked, 
then,  from  Lambert  to  Monk,  as  sinners  flock  from  Baal 
to  God. 

Monk  made  his  calculations  : at  a thousand  desertions 
a day  Lambert  had  men  enough  to  last  twenty  days ; but 
there  is  in  falling  masses  such  increase  at  once  of  weight 
and  rapidity  of  motion,  that  a hundred  left  the  first  day, 
five  hundred  the  second,  a thousand  the  third.  Monk 
thought  he  had  obtained  his  rate.  But  from  a thousand 
the  desertion  passed  quickly  on  to  two  thousand,  then  to 
four  thousand  ; and,  eight  days  after,  Lambert,  perceiving 
that  he  had  no  longer  the  possibility  of  accepting  battle, 
if  it  were  offered  to  him,  took  the  wise  resolution  of  de- 
camping during  the  night,  to  return  to  London,  and  be 
beforehand  with  Monk  in  constructing  a power  with  the 
wreck  of  the  military  party.  But  Monk,  free  and  with- 
out inquietude,  marched  towards  London  as  a conqueror, 
augmenting  his  army  from  all  the  floating  parties  on  his 
passage.  He  encamped  at  Barnet,  — that  is  to  say,  within 
four  leagues  of  the  capital,  — cherished  by  the  Parliament, 
which  thought  it  beheld  in  him  a protector,  and  looked 
for  by  the  people,  who  were  anxious  to  see  him  reveal 
himself,  that  they  might  judge  him.  D’Artagnan  him- 
self had  not  been  able  to  fathom  his  tactics : he  observed, 


MONK  REVEALS  HIMSELF. 


309 


he  admired.  Monk  could  not  enter  London  with  a set- 
tled determination  without  encountering  civil  war.  He 
temporized  for  a short  time.  Suddenly,  without  any- 
body expecting  it,  Monk  drove  the  military  party  out  of 
London,  and  installed  himself  in  the  city  amidst  the  citi- 
zens, by  order  of  the  Parliament ; then,  at  the  moment 
when  the  citizens  were  crying  out  against  Monk,  — at  the 
moment  when  the  soldiers  themselves  were  accusing  their 
leader,  — Monk,  finding  himself  certain  of  a majority,  de- 
clared to  the  Rump  Parliament  that  it  must  abdicate, 
be  dissolved,  and  yield  its  place  to  a government  which 
would  not  be  a joke.  Monk  pronounced  this  declaration, 
supported  by  fifty  thousand  swords,  to  which,  that  same 
evening,  were  united,  with  hurrahs  of  delirious  joy,  five 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants  of  the  good  city  of  Lon- 
don. At  length,  at  the  moment  when  the  people,  after 
their  triumphs  and  festive  repasts  in  the  open  streets, 
were  looking  about  for  a master,  it  was  affirmed  that 
a vessel  had  left  the  Hague,  bearing  Charles  II.  and  his 
fortunes. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Monk  to  his  officers,  “ I am  go- 
ing to  meet  the  legitimate  king.  He  who  loves  me 
will  follow  me.”  A burst  of  acclamations  welcomed 
these  words,  which  D’Artagnan  heard  with  the  greatest 
delight. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” said  he  to  Monk,  “ that  is  bold,  Mon- 
sieur.” 

“ You  will  accompany  me,  will  you  not  ? ” said  Monk. 

“ Pardieu  ! General.  But  tell  me,  I beg,  what  you 
wrote  by  Athos,  — that  is  to  say,  the  Comte  de  la  Fere, 
— you  know,  — the  day  of  our  arrival  % ” 

“ I have  no  secrets  for  you  now,”  replied  Monk.  “ I 
wrote  these  words  : ‘ Sire,  I expect  your  Majesty  in  six 
weeks  at  Dover.’  ” 


310 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ All ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ I no  longer  say  it  is  bold  ; 
I say  it  is  well  played,  it  is  a fine  stroke  ! ” 

“You  are  something  of  a judge  in  such  matters,”  re- 
plied Monk. 

And  this  was  the  only  time  the  general  ever  made  an 
allusion  to  his  voyage  to  Holland. 


MHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  511 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ATHOS  AND  d’aRTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE  AT  THE  HOS- 
TELRY OF  THE  STAG’S  HORN. 

The  King  of  England  made  his  entree  into  Dover  with 
great  pomp,  as  he  afterwards  did  into  London.  He  had 
sent  for  his  brothers ; he  had  brought  over  his  mother 
and  sister.  England  had  been  for  so  long  a time  given 
up  to  herself,  — that  is  to  say,  to  tyranny,  mediocrity,  and 
madness,  — that  this  return  of  Charles  II.,  whom  the  Eng- 
lish only  knew  as  the  son  of  the  man  whose  head  they 
had  cut  off,  was  a festival  for  the  three  kingdoms.  Con* 
sequently,  all  the  vows,  all  the  acclamations,  which  ac- 
companied his  return,  struck  the  young  king  so  forcibly, 
that  he  stooped  towards  the  ear  of  James  of  York,  his 
younger  brother,  and  said,  “ In  truth,  James,  it  appears 
to  have  been  our  own  fault  that,  we  were  so  long  absent 
from  a country  where  we  are  so  much  beloved  ! ” The 
cortege  was  magnificent.  Beautiful  weather  favored  the 
solemnity.  Charles  had  regained  all  his  youth,  all  his 
good  humor ; he  appeared  to  be  transfigured  ; hearts 
seemed  to  smile  upon  him  like  the  sun.  Amid  this  ob- 
streperous crowd  of  courtiers  and  worshippers,  who  did 
not  appear  to  remember  they  had  conducted  to  the  scaf- 
fold at  Whitehall  the  father  of  the  new  king,  a man,  in 
the  garb  of  a lieutenant  of  Musketeers,  looked,  with  a 
smile  upon  his  thin,  intellectual  lips,  sometimes  at  the 
people  vociferating  their  good  wishes,  and  sometimes  at 
the  prince,  who  pretended  emotion,  and  who  bowed  most 


312 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


particularly  to  the  women,  whose  bouquets  were  strewed 
before  his  horse’s  feet.  “ What  a fine  trade  is  that  of  a 
king  ! ” said  this  man,  drawn  away  by  his  contemplation, 
and  so  completely  absorbed  that  he  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  leaving  the  cortege  to  file  past.  “ Now,  there 
is,  in  good  truth,  a prince  all  stitched  over  with  gold  and 
diamonds  like  a Solomon,  enamelled  with  flowers  like  a 
spring  meadow ; he  is  about  to  draw  with  full  hands  from 
the  immense  coffer  in  which  his  now  faithful  — so  lately 
unfaithful  — subjects  have  amassed  one  or  two  cart-loads 
of  ingots  of  gold.  They  cast  bouquets  enough  upon  him 
to  smother  him  ; and  yet,  if  he  had  presented  himself  to 
them  two  months  ago,  they  would  have  sent  as  many 
bullets  and  balls  at  him  as  they  now  throw  flowers.  De- 
cidedly it  is  worth  something  to  be  born  in  a certain 
fashion,  — with  deference  to  those  of  low  birth  who  claim 
that  low  birth  is  of  little  consequence.”  The  cortege  con- 
tinued to  file  on;  and,  with  the  king,  the  acclamations 
began  to  die  away  in  the  direction  of  the  palace,  which, 
however,  did  not  prevent  our  officer  from  being  shoved 
about. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” continued  the  reasoner.  “ these  people 
tread  upon  my  toes  and  look  upon  me  as  of  very  little 
consequence,  or  rather  of  none  at  all,  seeing  that  they 
are  Englishmen  and  I am  a Frenchman.  If  all  these 
people  were  asked,  ‘ Who  is  M.  d’Artagnan  1 7 they  would 
reply,  6 Nescio  vos'  But  let  any  one  say  to  them, 
‘ There  is  the  king  going  by ; there  is  M.  Monk  going 
by,7  they  would  yell  out,  ‘ Vive  le  roi  ! Vive  M.  Monk  ! 1 
till  their  lungs  were  exhausted.  And  yet,”  continued  he, 
surveying  the  moving  crowd  with  that  look  sometimes 
so  keen  and  sometimes  so  proud,  — “ and  yet,  reflect 
a little,  my  good  people,  on  what  your  king  has  done,  on 
what  M.  Monk  has  done,  and  then  think  what  has  been 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  313 

done  by  this  poor  unknown,  who  is  called  M.  d’Artagnan  ! 
It  is  true  you  do  not  know  him,  since  he  is  unknown ; 
which  perhaps  prevents  your  thinking  about  the  matter. 
But,  bah  ! what  matters  it ! All  that  does  not  prevent 
Charles  II.  from  being  a great  king,  although  he  has  been 
exiled  twelve  years ; or  M.  Monk  from  being  a great  cap- 
tain, although  he  did  make  a voyage  to  Holland  in  a 
box.  Well,  then,  since  it  is  admitted  that  one  is  a great 
king  and  the  other  a great  captain,  — ‘ Hurrah  for  King 
Charles  II.  ! Hurrah  for  General  Monk  ! ’ ” and  his  voice 
mingled  with  the  voices  of  the  thousands  of  spectators, 
over  which  it  dominated  for  a moment.  Then,  the  better 
to  play  the  devoted  man,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  waved 
it  in  the  air.  Some  one  seized  his  arm  in  the  very  height 
of  his  expansive  loyalism  (in  1660  that  which  we  now 
call  royalism  was  so  termed). 

“Athos!”  cried  D’Artagnan,  “you  here!”  and  the 
two  friends  embraced. 

“ You  here  ! — and  being  here,”  continued  the  mus- 
keteer, “you  are  not,  in  the  midst  of  all  those  courtiers, 
my  dear  count  ! What ! you,  the  hero  of  the  fete , you  are 
not  prancing  on  the  left  hand  of  the  king,  as  M.  Monk  is 
prancing  on  the  right  % In  truth,  I cannot  comprehend 
your  character,  nor  that  of  the  prince  who  owes  you  so 
much  ! ” 

“ Still  a railer ! my  dear  D’Artagnan  ! ” said  Athos. 
“Will  you  never  correct  yourself  of  that  vile  habit  ] ” 

“ But  you  do  not  form  part  of  the  cortege  ? ” 

“ I do  not,  because  I was  not  willing  to  do  so.” 

“ And  why  were  you  not  willing  ] ” 

“ Because  I am  neither  envoy  nor  ambassador  nor  rep- 
resentative of  the  King  of  France  ; and  it  does  not  become 
me  to  exhibit  myself  thus  near  the  person  of  another 
king  than  the  one  God  has  given  me  for  a master.” 


314 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Mordioux  ! you  came  very  near  to  the  person  of  the 
king,  his  father.” 

“ That  was  another  thing,  my  friend ; he  was  about  to 
die.” 

“And  yet  that  which  you  did  for  him  — ” 

“ I did  because  it  was  my  duty  to  do  it.  But  you 
know  I hate  all  ostentation.  Let  King  Charles  II.,  then, 
who  no  longer  stands  in  need  of  me,  leave  me  to  my  re- 
pose and  in  the  shade ; that  is  all  I claim  of  him.” 
D’Artagnan  sighed. 

“ What  is  the  matter  with  you  ? ” said  Athos.  “ One 
would  say  that  this  happy  return  of  the  king  to  London 
saddens  you,  my  friend,  — you  who  have  done  at  least  as 
much  for  his  Majesty  as  I have.” 

“Have  I not,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  with  his  Gascon 
laugh,  — “ have  I not  done  much  for  his  Majesty,  without 
any  one  suspecting  it  ? ” 

“ Yes,  yes  ; but  the  king  is  well  aware  of  it,  my  friend,” 
cried  Athos. 

“ He  is  aware  of  it ! ” said  the  musketeer,  bitterly.  “ By 
my  faith  ! I did  not  suspect  so,  and  I was  even,  a mo- 
ment ago,  trying  to  forget  it  myself.” 

“ But  he,  my  friend,  will  not  forget  it ; I will  answer  for 
him.” 

“You  tell  me  that  to  console  me  a little,  Athos.” 

“ For  what  1 ” 

“ Mordioux  ! for  the  loss  of  all  the  money  I have  spent. 
I have  ruined  myself,  my  friend,  — ruined  myself  for  the 
restoration  of  this  young  prince  who  has  just  passed, 
capering  upon  his  dun  horse.” 

“ The  king  does  not  know  you  have  ruined  yourself,  my 
friend  ; hut  he  knows  he  owes  you  much.” 

“ And  say,  Athos,  does  that  advance  me  in  any  re- 
spect ? I do  you  justice,  — you  have  labored  nobly  ; but 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  315 

I — I,  who  in  appearance  marred  your  combinations,  — it 
was  I who  really  made  them  succeed.  Follow  my  calcu- 
lations closely  : you  might  not,  by  persuasion  or  mildness, 
have  convinced  General  Monk,  while  I have  so  roughly 
treated  this  dear  general,  that  I furnished  your  prince 
with  an  opportunity  of  showing  himself  generous  ; this 
generosity  was  inspired  in  him  by  the  fact  of  my  fortu- 
nate mistake,  and  Charles  is  paid  by  the  restoration  which 
Monk  has  brought  about.” 

“ All  that,  my  dear  friend,  is  strikingly  true,”  replied 
Athos. 

“Well,  strikingly  true  as  it  may  be,  it  is  not  less  true, 
my  friend,  that  I shall  return,  — greatly  noticed  by  M. 
Monk,  who  calls  me  ‘ My  dear  captain  ’ all  day  long,  al- 
though I am  neither  dear  to  him  nor  a captain  ; and 
strongly  appreciated  by  the  king,  who  has  already  forgotten 
my  name,  — it  is  not  less  true,  I say,  that  I shall  re- 
turn to  my  beautiful  country,  cursed  by  the  soldiers  I 
had  raised  with  promise  of  large  pay,  cursed  by  the 
brave  Planchet,  of  whom  I borrowed  a part  of  his 
fortune.” 

“ How  is  that  ] What  the  devil  had  Planchet  to  do  in 
all  this]” 

“ Ay,  yes,  my  friend.  This  king,  so  spruce,  so  smiling, 
so  adored,  — M.  Monk  fancies  he  has  recalled  him,  you 
fancy  you  have  supported  him,  I fancy  I have  brought 
him  back,  the  people  fancy  they  have  re-conquered  him, 
he  himself  fancies  he  has  negotiated  so  as  to  be  restored ; 
and  yet  nothing  of  all  this  is  true,  for  Charles  II.,  King 
of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  has  been  replaced  upon 
the  throne  by  a French  grocer,  who  lives  in  the  Rue  des 
Lombards,  and  is  named  Planchet.  And  such  is  gran- 
deur! ‘ Vanity  !’  says  the  Scripture,  ‘ vanity,  all  is 

vanity.’  ” 


316 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Athos  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  whimsical  out- 
break  of  his  friend. 

“Mv  dear  D’Artagnan,”  said  he,  pressing  his  hand 
affectionately,  “ should  you  not  exercise  a little  more 
philosophy  ? Is  it  not  some  further  satisfaction  to  you  to 
have  saved  my  life  as  you  did  by  arriving  so  fortunately 
with  Monk,  when  those  damned  parliamentarians  wanted 
to  burn  me  alive  h ” 

“ Well,  but  you,  in  some  degree,  deserved  burning  a 
little,  my  dear  count.” 

“ How  so  ? — for  having  saved  King  Charles’s  million  ? ” 
“ What  million  1 ” 

“ Ah,  that  is  true  ! you  never  knew  that,  my  friend ; 
but  you  must  not  be  angry,  for  it  was  not  my  secret. 
That  word  ‘ Remember  ’ which  the  king  pronounced  upon 
the  scaffold  — ” 

“ And  which  means  Souviens-toi  ! ” 

“ Exactly.  It  meant  this  : 4 Remember  there  is  a mil- 
lion buried  in  the  vaults  of  Newcastle  Abbey,  and  that 
that  million  belongs  to  my  son.’  ” 

“ Ah  ! very  well,  I understand.  But  what  I understand 
likewise,  and  what  is  very  frightful  is,  that  every  time  his 
Majesty  Charles  II.  will  think  of  me,  he  will  say  to  him- 
self : ‘ There  is  the  man  who  was  near  making  me  lose 
my  crown.  Fortunately  I was  generous,  great,  full  of 
presence  of  mind.’  This  is  what  the  young  gentleman  in 
a shabby  black  doublet  will  say,  who  came  to  the  chateau 
of  Blois,  hat  in  hand,  to  ask  me  if  I would  grant  him 
access  to  the  King  of  France.” 

“ D’Artagnan  ! D’Artagnan  ! ” said  Athos,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  musketeer,  “ you  are  unjust.” 
“ I am  right.” 

“ No  ; for  you  are  ignorant  of  the  future.” 

D’Artagnan  looked  his  friend  full  in  the  face,  and  began 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  317 

to  laugh.  “In  truth,  my  dear  Athos,”  said  he,  “you 
speak  some  words  so  superb,  that  they  belong  only  to  you 
and  M.  le  Cardinal  Mazarin.” 

Athos  made  a movement. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  laughing, — 
“ I beg  your  pardon,  if  I have  offended  you.  The  future  ! 
Bah  ! Words  that  promise  are  pretty  words,  and  how 
well  they  fill  the  mouth  in  default  of  other  things  ! Mor- 
dioux  ! After  having  met  with  so  many  who  promise, 
when  shall  I find  one  who  gives  ? But  let  that  pass  ! ” 
continued  D’Artagnan.  “ What  are  you  doing  here,  my 
dear  Athos  ? Are  you  king’s  treasurer  h ” 

“ What  ! — king’s  treasurer  h ” 

“Well;  since  the  king  possesses  a million,  he  must 
want  a treasurer.  The  King  of  France,  although  he  is 
not  worth  a sou,  has  still  an  intendant  of  finance,  M.  Fou- 
quet.  It  is  true  that,  in  exchange,  M.  Fouquet  has  a 
good  number  of  millions  of  his  own.” 

“ Oh  ! our  million  is  spent  long  ago,”  said  Athos,  laugh- 
ing in  his  turn. 

“ I understand ; it  was  frittered  away  in  satin,  precious 
stones,  velvet,  and  feathers  of  all  sorts  and  colors.  All 
these  princes  and  princesses  stood  in  great  need  of  tailors 
and  dressmakers.  Eh  ! Athos,  do  you  remember  what  we 
fellows  expended  in  equipping  ourselves  for  the  cam- 
paign of  La  Rochelle,  and  to  make  our  appearance  on 
horseback1?  Two  or  three  thousand  livres,  by  my 
faith  ! But  a king’s  robe  is  more  ample  ; it  would  re- 
quire a million  to  purchase  the  stuff.  At  least,  Athos, 
if  you  are  not  treasurer,  you  are  on  a good  footing  at 
court.” 

“By  the  faith  of  a gentleman,  I know  nothing  about 
it,”  said  Athos,  simply. 

“ What  ! you  know  nothing  about  it  ? ” 


318 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ No  ! I have  not  seen  the  king  since  we  left  Dover.” 

“ Then  he  has  forgotten  you  too  ! Mordioux  ! That  is 
shameful ! ” 

“ His  Majesty  has  had  so  much  business  to  transact.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  with  one  of  those  intelligent 
grimaces  which  he  alone  knew  how  to  make,  “ that  is 
enough  to  make  me  recover  my  love  for  Monseigneur 
Giulio  Mazarini.  What,  Athos  ! the  king  has  not  seen 
you  since  ? ” 

“No.” 

“ And  you  are  not  furious  ? ” 

“ I ! — why  should  I be  ? Do  you  imagine,  my  dear 
D’Artagnan,  that  it  was  on  the  king’s  account  I acted  as 
I have  done?  I did  not  know  the  young  man.  I de- 
fended the  father,  who  represented  a principle  sacred 
in  my  eyes,  and  I allowed  myself  to  be  drawn  towards 
the  son  by  a sympathy  for  this  same  principle.  Besides, 
he  was  a worthy  knight,  a noble  mortal  creature,  that 
father;  do  you  remember  him?” 

“Yes,  that  is  true ; he  was  a brave,  an  excellent  man, 
who  led  a sad  life,  but  made  a fine  end.” 

“ Well,  my  dear  D’Artagnan,  understand  this  : to  that 
king,  to  that  man  of  heart,  to  that  friend  of  my  thoughts, 
if  I durst  venture  to  say  so,  I swore,  at  the  last  hour,  to 
preserve  faithfully  the  secret  of  a deposit  which  was  to  be 
transmitted  to  his  son,  to  assist  him  at  his  need.  This 
young  man  came  to  me  ; he  described  his  destitution ; 
he  was  unaware  that  I was  anything  to  him  but  a liv- 
ing souvenir  of  his  father.  I have  accomplished  for 
Charles  II.  what  I promised  Charles  I. ; that  is  all.  Of 
what  consequence  is  it  to  me,  then,  whether  he  be  grate- 
ful or  not?  It  is  to  myself  I have  rendered  a service,  by 
relieving  myself  of  this  responsibility,  and  not  to  him.” 

“ Well,  I have  always  said,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  with 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  319 

a sigh,  “ that  disinterestedness  is  the  finest  thing  in  the 
world.” 

“ Well ; and  you,  my  friend,”  resumed  Athos,  — “are 
you  not  in  the  same  situation  as  myself?  If  I have  prop- 
erly understood  your  words,  you  have  allowed  yourself 
to  be  affected  by  the  misfortunes  of  this  young  man ; that, 
on  your  part,  was  much  greater  than  it  was  upon  mine,  for 
I had  a duty  to  fulfil,  while  you  were  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  the  son  of  the  martyr.  You  had  not,  on  your 
part,  to  pay  him  the  price  of  that  precious  drop  of  blood 
which  he  let  fall  upon  my  brow,  through  the  floor  of  his 
scaffold.  That  which  made  you  act  was  heart  alone,  — 
the  noble  and  good  heart  which  you  possess  beneath  your 
apparent  scepticism  and  sarcastic  irony  ; you  have  de-, 
voted  the  fortune  of  a servant,  and  your  own,  I suspect, 
my  benevolent  miser ! and  your  sacrifice  is  not  acknowl- 
edged ! Of  what  consequence  is  it  ? You  wish  to  repay 
Planchet  his  money  ? I can  comprehend  that,  my  friend  ; 
for  it  is  not  becoming  in  a gentleman  to  borrow  of  his 
inferior,  without  returning  him  principal  and  interest* 
Well,  I will  sell  La  Fere,  if  necessary,  and  if  not,  some 
little  farm.  You  shall  pay  Planchet,  and  there  will  be 
enough,  believe  me,  of  corn  left  in  my  granaries  for  us 
two  and  Raoul.  In  this  way,  my  friend,  you  will  owe  an 
obligation  to  nobody  but  yourself;  and,  if  I know  you 
well,  it  will  not  be  a small  satisfaction  to  your  mind, 
to  be  able  to  say,  1 1 have  made  a king ! 9 Am  I 
right?” 

“ Athos  ! Athos  ! ” murmured  D’Artagnan,  thought- 
fully, “ I have  told  you  more  than  once,  that  the  day  on 
which  you  shall  preach,  I will  attend  the  sermon ; the 
day  on  which  you  shall  tell  me  there  is  a hell,  mordioux  ! 
I shall  be  afraid  of  the  gridiron  and  the  forks.  You  are 
better  than  I,  or  rather,  better  than  anybody ; and  I only 


320 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


acknowledge  the  possession  of  one  merit,  and  that  is,  of 
not  being  jealous.  Except  that  defect,  God  damn  me,  as 
the  English  say,  if  I have  not  all  the  rest.” 

“ I know  nobody  equal  to  D’Artagnan,”  replied  Athos ; 
“ but  here  we  are,  arrived  in  good  time  at  the  house  I 
inhabit.  Will  you  come  in,  my  friend  ? ” 

“ Eh  ! why,  this  is  the  Stag’s  Horn  tavern,  I think  *?  ” 
said  D’Artagnan. 

“ I confess  I chose  it  on  purpose.  I like  old  acquaint- 
ances ; I like  to  sit  down  on  that  place  whereon  I sank, 
overcome  by  fatigue,  overwhelmed  with  despair,  when  you 
returned  on  the  31st  of  January.” 

“ After  having  discovered  the  abode  of  the  masked 
executioner'?  Yes,  that  was  a terrible  day  ! ” 

“Come  in,  then,”  said  Athos,  interrupting  him. 

They  entered  the  large  apartment,  formerly  the  com- 
mon one.  The  tavern  in  general,  and  this  room  in 
particular,  had  undergone  great  changes ; the  ancient 
host  of  the  Musketeers,  having  become  tolerably  rich  for 
an  innkeeper,  had  closed  his  shop,  and  made  of  this  room 
a warehouse  for  colonial  provisions.  As  for  the  rest  of 
the  house,  he  let  it  ready  furnished  to  strangers.  It 
was  with  unspeakable  emotion  D’Artagnan  recognized 
all  the  furniture  of  the  chamber  of  the  first  story,  — 
the  wainscoting,  the  tapestries,  and  even  that  geographi- 
cal chart  which  Porthos  had  so  fondly  studied  in  his 
moments  of  leisure. 

“It  is  eleven  years  ago,”  cried  D’Artagnan.  “ Mor- 
dioux  ! it  appears  to  me  a century  ! ” 

“And  to  me  but  a day,”  said  Athos.  “Imagine  the 
joy  I experience,  my  friend,  in  seeing  you  here,  in  press- 
ing your  hand,  in  casting  from  me  sword  and  poniard,  and 
tasting  without  mistrust  this  glass  of  sherry.  And,  oh  ! 
what  still  further  joy  it  would  be,  if  our  two  friends  were 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  321 


there,  at  the  two  angles  of  the  table,  and  Raoul,  my 
beloved  Raoul,  on  the  threshold,  looking  at  us  with  his 
large  eyes,  at  once  so  brilliant  and  so  soft ! ” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  D’Artagnan,  much  affected,  “that  is 
true.  I approve  particularly  of  the  first  part  of  your 
thought ; it  is  very  pleasant  to  smile  here  where  we 
have  with  so  good  reason  shuddered  at  thinking  that 
from  one  moment  to  another  M.  Mordaunt  might  appear 
upon  the  landing.” 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  D’Artagnan, 
brave  as  he  was,  could  not  restrain  a slight  movement  of 
fright.  Athos  understood  him  ; and  smiling,  “ It  is  our 
host,”  said  he,  “ bringing  me  a letter.” 

“ Yes,  my  Lord,”  said  the  good  man ; “ here  is  a letter 
for  your  Honor.” 

“Thank  you,”  said  Athos,  taking  the  letter  without 
looking  at  it.  “ Tell  me,  my  dear  host,  if  you  do  not 
remember  this  gentleman.” 

The  old  man  raised  his  head,  and  looked  attentively  at 
D’Artagnan. 

“ No,”  said  he. 

“ It  is,”  said  Athos,  “ one  of  those  friends  of  whom  I 
have  spoken  to  you,  and  who  lodged  here  with  me  eleven 
years  ago.” 

“ Oh ! but,”  said  the  old  man,  “ so  many  strangers 
have  lodged  here  ! ” 

“But  we  lodged  here  on  the  30th  of  January,  1649,” 
added  Athos,  believing  he  would  stimulate  the  lazy 
memory  of  the  host  by  this  remark. 

“ That  is  very  possible,”  replied  he,  smiling ; “ but  it 
is  so  long  ago  ! ” and  he  bowed,  and  went  out. 

“Thank  you,”  said  D’Artagnan;  “perform  exploits, 
accomplish  revolutions,  endeavor  to  engrave  your  name 
in  stone  or  upon  brass  with  strong  swords  ! there  is 
VOL.  t. — 21 


322 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


something  more  rebellious,  more  hard,  more  forgetful 
than  iron,  brass,  or  stone,  and  that  is  the  aging:  brain  of 
the  master  of  lodgings  enriched  by  his  trade.  He  does 
not  know  me  ! — well,  I should  have  known  him.” 

Athos,  still  smiling,  unsealed  his  letter.  “ Ah  ! ” said 
he,  “a  letter  from  Parry.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ read  it,  my  friend,  read 
it ! It,  no  doubt,  contains  news.” 

Athos  shook  his  head,  and  read  : — 

Monsieur  the  Count,  — The  king  has  experienced  much 
regret  at  not  seeing  you  to-day,  near  him,  at  his  entrance. 
His  Majesty  commands  me  to  say  so,  and  to  recall  him  to  your 
memory.  His  Majesty  will  expect  you  this  evening,  at  the 
palace  of  St.  J ames,  between  nine  and  ten  o’clock. 

I am,  with  respect,  Monsieur  the  Count,  your  Honor’s  very 
humble  and  very  obedient  servant,  Parry. 

“ You  see,  my  dear  D’Artagnan,”  said  Athos,  “ we  must 
not  despair  of  the  hearts  of  kings.” 

“Not  despair!  you  have  reason  to  say  so!”  replied 
D'Artagnan. 

“ Oh ! my  dear,  very  dear  friend,”  resumed  Athos, 
whom  the  almost  imperceptible  bitterness  of  D’Artagnan 
had  not  escaped.  “ Pardon  me  ! can  I have  unintention- 
ally wounded  my  best  comrade  V9 

“ You  are  mad,  Athos,  and  to  prove  it  I will  conduct 
you  to  the  palace,  — to  the  very  gate,  I mean ; the  walk 
will  do  me  good.” 

“You  will  go  in  with  me,  my  friend;  I will  speak  to 
his  Majesty.” 

“ No,  no  ! ” replied  D’Artagnan,  with  a true  pride,  free 
from  all  mixture ; “ if  there  is  anything  worse  than  beg- 
ging yourself,  it  is  making  others  beg  for  you.  Come, 
let  us  go,  my  friend,  the  walk  will  be  charming ; I will, 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  323 

in  passing,  show  you  the  house  of  M.  Monk,  who  has  de- 
tained me  with  him.  A beautiful  house,  by  my  faith! 
Being  a general  in  England  is  better  than  being  a mar- 
shal in  France,  please  to  know.” 

Athos  allowed  himself  to  be  led  along,  saddened  by 
D’Artagnan’s  fictitious  gayety.  The  whole  city  was  in  a 
state  of  joy ; the  two  friends  were  jostled  at  every  mo- 
ment by  enthusiasts  who  required  them,  in  their  intoxi- 
cation, to  cry  out,  “Long  live  good  King  Charles!’ 
D’Artagnan  replied  by  a grunt,  and  Athos  by  a smile. 
They  arrived  thus  in  front  of  Monk’s  house,  before  which, 
as  we  have  said,  they  had  to  pass  on  their  way  to  St. 
James.  Athos  and  D’Artagnan  said  but  little  on  their 
way,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  would  have  had  so 
many  things  to  talk  about  if  they  had  spoken.  Athos 
thought  that  by  speaking  he  should  evince  satisfaction, 
and  that  that  might  wound  D’Artagnan.  The  latter  feared 
that  in  speaking  he  should  allow  some  little  acerbity  to 
steal  into  his  words  which  would  render  his  company  un- 
pleasant to  his  friend.  It  was  a singular  emulation  of 
silence  between  contentment  and  ill-humor.  D’Artagnan 
gave  wa}7  first  to  that  itching  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
which  he  so  habitually  experienced. 

“ Do  you  remember,  Athos,”  said  he,  “ the  passage  of 
the  ‘Memoires  de  D’Aubigny,’  in  which  that  devoted  ser- 
vant — a Gascon  like  myself,  poor  as  myself,  and,  I was 
going  to  add,  brave  as  myself  — relates  instances  of  the 
meanness  of  Henry  IV.  ? My  father  always  told  me,  I 
remember,  that  D’Aubigny  was  a liar.  But,  neverthe- 
less, examine  how  all  the  princes,  the  issue  of  the  great 
Henry,  keep  up  the  character  of  the  race.” 

“ Nonsense!  ” said  Athos,  “ the  kings  of  France  misers? 
You  are  mad,  my  friend.” 

“ Oh  ! you  are  so  perfect  yourself?  you  never  agree  to 


324 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  faults  of  others.  But,  in  reality,  Henry  IY.  was  cove- 
tous;  Louis  XIII.,  his  son,  was  so  likewise,  — we  know 
something  of  that,  don’t  we?  Gaston  carried  this  vice 
to  exaggeration,  and  has  made  himself,  in  this  respect, 
hated  by  all  who  surround  him.  Henriette,  poor  woman, 
might  well  be  avaricious,  — she  who  did  not  eat  every  day, 
and  could  not  warm  herself  every  winter ; and  that  is  an 
example  she  has  given  to  her  son  Charles  II.,  grandson 
of  the  great  Henry  IV.,  who  is  as  covetous  as  his  mother 
and  his  grandfather.  See  if  I have  well  traced  the  gen- 
ealogy of  the  misers  ! ” 

“ D’Artagnan,  my  friend,”  cried  Athos,  “you  are  very 
rude  towards  that  eagle  race  called  the  Bourbons.” 

“ Eh  ! and  I have  forgotten  the  best  instance  of  all,  — 
the  other  grandson  of  the  Bcarnais,  Louis  XIV.,  my  ex- 
master. Well,  I hope  he  is  miserly  enough,  who  would 
not  lend  a million  to  his  brother  Charles!  Good ! I see 
you  are  beginning  to  be  angry.  Here  we  are,  by  good 
luck,  close  to  my  house,  or  rather  to  that  of  my  friend, 
M.  Monk.” 

“ My  dear  D’Artagnan,  you  do  not  make  me  angry, 
you  make  me  sad  ; it  is  cruel,  in  fact,  to  see  a man  of 
your  merit  out  of  the  position  his  services  ought  to  have 
acquired  ; it  appears  to  me,  my  dear  friend,  that  your 
name  is  as  radiant  as  the  greatest  names  in  war  and  di- 
plomacy. Tell  me  if  the  Luynes,  the  Bellegardes,  and 
the  Bassompierres  have  merited,  as  we  have,  fortunes 
and  honors?  You  are  right,  my  friend,  a hundred  times 
right.” 

D’Artagnan  sighed,  and  preceding  his  friend  under  the 
porch  of  the  mansion  Monk  inhabited,  at  the  extremity 
of  the  city,  “ Permit  me,”  said  he,  “ to  leave  my  purse  at 
home ; for  if  in  the  crowd  those  clever  pickpockets  of 
London,  who  are  much  boasted  of  even  in  Paris,  were  to 


ATHOS  AND  D’ARTAGNAN  MEET  ONCE  MORE.  325 


steal  from  me  the  remainder  of  my  poor  crowns,  I should 
not  be  able  to  return  to  France.  Now,  content  I left 
France,  and  wild  with  joy  I should  return  to  it,  seeing 
that  all  my  prejudices  of  former  days  against  England 
are  returned,  accompanied  by  many  others.” 

Athos  made  no  reply. 

“ So  then,  my  dear  friend,  one  second,  and  I will  fol- 
low you,”  said  D’Artagnan.  “ 1 know  you  are  in  a hurry 
to  go  yonder  to  receive  your  reward ; but,  believe  me,  I 
am  not  less  eager  to  partake  of  your  joy,  although  at  a 
distance.  Wait  for  me  : ” and  D’Artagnan  wTas  already 
passing  through  the  vestibule,  when  a man,  half  servant, 
half  soldier,  who  filled  in  Monk’s  establishment  the 
double  functions  of  porter  and  guard,  stopped  our  mus 
keteer,  saying  to  him,  in  English,  — 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord  d’Artagnan  ! ” 

“ Well,”  replied  the  latter  ; “ what  is  it  ? Is  the  general 
going  to  dismiss  me  ^ That  only  was  wanting,  — that  I 
should  be  expelled  by  him  ! ” 

These  words,  spoken  in  French,  made  no  impression 
upon  the  person  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  and  who 
himself  only  spoke  an  English  mixed  with  the  rudest 
Scotch.  But  Athos  was  grieved  with  them,  for  he  began 
to  think  D’Artagnan  was  not  wrong. 

The  Englishman  showed  D’Artagnan  a letter  : “ From 
the  general,”  said  he. 

“ Ay ! that ’s  it,  my  dismissal  ! ” replied  the  Gascon. 
“ Must  it  be  read,  Athos  ? ” 

“You  must  be  deceived,”  said  Athos,  “or  I know  no 
other  honest  people  in  the  world  but  you  and  myself.” 
D’Artagnan  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  unsealed  the 
letter,  while  the  impassive  Englishman  held  for  him  a 
large  lantern,  by  the  light  of  which  he  was  enabled  to 
read  it.' 


326 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Well,  what  have  you?”  said  Athos,  seeing  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  reader  change. 

“ Read  it  yourself,”  said  the  musketeer. 

Athos  took  the  paper  and  read  : — 

M.  d’Artagnan,  — The  king  very  much  regrets  you  did 
not  come  to  St.  Paul’s  with  his  cortege.  You  have  failed 
with  him  as  you  failed  with  me,  my  dear  captain.  There 
is  but  one  means  of  repairing  all  this.  His  Majesty  expects 
me -at  nine  o’clock  at  the  palace  of  St.  James;  will  you  be 
there  at  the  same  time  with  me  ? His  gracious  Majesty  ap- 
points that  hour  for  an  audience  he  grants  you. 


This  letter  was  from  Monk. 


THE  AUDIENCE. 


327 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  AUDIENCE. 

“Well?”  cried  Athos,  with  a mild  look  of  reproach, 
when  D’Artagnan  had  read  the  letter  addressed  to  him 
by  Monk. 

“Well!”  said  D’Artagnan,  red  with  pleasure,  and  a 
little  with  shame  for  having  so  hastily  accused  the  king 
and  Monk,  “ this  is  a politeness,  — which  leads  to  noth- 
ing, it  is  true,  but  yet  it:  is  a politeness.” 

“ I could  hardly  believe  the  young  prince  ungrateful,” 
said  Athos. 

“ The  fact  is,  that  his  present  is  still  too  near  to  his 
past,”  replied  D’Artagnan ; “ but,  after  all,  everything  to 
the  present  moment  proves  me  right.” 

“ I acknowledge  it,  my  dear  friend,  I acknowledge  it. 
Ah  ! there  is  your  cheerful  look  returned.  You  cannot 
think  how  delighted  I am.” 

“ Thus  you  see,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ Charles  II.  re- 
ceives M.  Monk  at  nine  o’clock ; me  he  will  receive  at 
ten  ; it  is  a grand  audience,  of  the  sort  which  at  the 
Louvre  are  called  ‘ distributions  of  holy  court  water.’ 
Come,  let  us  go  and  place  ourselves  under  the  spout,  my 
dear  friend  ! Come  along  ! ” 

Athos  did  not  reply ; and  both  directed  their  steps, 
at  a quick  pace,  towards  the  palace  of  St.  James,  which 
the  crowd  still  surrounded,  to  catch  through  the  win- 
dows the  shadows  of  the  courtiers  and  the  reflection  of 
the  royal  person.  Eight  o’clock  was  striking,  when  the 


328 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BEAGELONNE. 


two  friends  took  their  places  in  the  gallery  filled  with 
courtiers  and  politicians.  Every  one  gave  a glance  at 
these  simply  dressed  men  in  foreign  habits,  at  these  two 
noble  heads  so  full  of  character  and  meaning.  On  their 
side,  Athos  and  D’Artagnan,  having  with  swift  glances 
taken  the  measure  of  the  whole  of  the  assembly,  resumed 
their  chat.  A great  noise  was  suddenly  heard  at  the 
extremity  of  the  gallery, — it  was  General  Monk,  who 
entered,  followed  by  more  than  twenty  officers,  all  anxious 
for  one  of  his  smiles ; for  he  had  been  the  evening  before 
master  of  all  England,  and  a glorious  morrow  was  ex- 
pected for  the  restorer  of  the  family  of  the  Stuarts. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  Monk,  turning  round,  “ hencefor- 
ward I beg  you  to  remember  that  I am  no  longer  any- 
thing. Lately  I commanded  the  principal  army  of  the 
republic ; now  that  army  is  the  king’s,  into  whose  hands 
I am  about  to  replace,  at  his  command,  my  power  of 
yesterday.” 

Great  surprise  was  expressed  on  the  countenances  of 
all ; and  the  circle  of  adulators  and  suppliants  which  sur- 
rounded Monk  an  instant  before,  was  enlarged  by  de- 
grees, until  it  was  lost  in  the  large  undulations  of  the 
crowd.  Monk  was  going  into  the  antechamber,  as  others 
did.  D’Artagnan  could  not  help  remarking  this  to  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere,  who  frowned  on  beholding  it.  Sud- 
denly the  door  of  Charles’s  cabinet  opened,  and  the  young 
king  appeared,  preceded  by  two  officers  of  his  household. 

“ Good  evening,  gentlemen,”  said  he.  “ Is  General 
Monk  here  1 ” 

“I  am  here,  Sire,”  replied  the  old  general. 

Charles  stepped  hastily  towards  him,  and  seized  his 
hand  with  the  warmest  demonstration  of  friendship. 
“ General,”  said  the  king,  aloud,  “ I have  just  signed  your 
patent, — you  are  Duke  of  Albemarle;  and  my  intention 


THE  AUDIENCE. 


329 


is  that  no  one  shall  equal  you  in  power  and  fortune  in 
this  kingdom,  where  — the  noble  Montrose  excepted  — 
no  one  has  equalled  you  in  loyalty,  courage,  and  talent. 
Gentlemen,  the  duke  is  commander  of  our  armies  by  land 
and  by  sea  ; pay  him  your  respects,  if  you  please,  in  that 
character.” 

While  every  one  was  pressing  round  the  general,  who 
received  all  this  homage  without  losing  his  impassiveness 
for  an  instant,  D’Artagnan  said  to  Athos  : “ When  one 
thinks  that  this  duchy,  this  command  of  the  land  and  sea 
forces,  — all  these  grandeurs,  in  a word,  — have  been  shut 
up  in  a box  six  feet  long  and  three  feet  wide  ! — ” 

“My  friend,”  replied  Athos,  “much  more  imposing 
grandeurs  are  confined  in  boxes  still  smaller,  — and  re- 
main there  forever.” 

All  at  once  Monk  perceived  the  two  gentlemen,  who 
held  themselves  apart  waiting  for  the  crowd  to  diminish  • 
he  himself  made  a passage  towards  them,  and  surprised 
them  in  the  midst  of  their  philosophical  reflections.  “ Were 
you  speaking  of  me  h ” said  he,  with  a smile. 

“My  Lord,”  replied  Athos,  “we  were  speaking  also  of 
God.” 

Monk  reflected  for  a moment,  and  then  replied  gayly  : 
“Gentlemen,  let  us  speak  a little  of  the  king  likewise,  if 
you  please  ; for  you  have,  I believe,  an  audience  of  his 
Majesty.” 

“ At  nine  o’clock,”  said  Athos. 

“ At  ten  o’clock,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“Let  us  go  into  this  closet  at  once,”  replied  Monk, 
making  a sign  to  his  two  companions  to  precede  him  ; but 
to  this  neither  would  consent. 

The  king  during  this  conversation  had  returned  to  the 
centre  of  the  gallery. 

“ Oh,  my  Frenchmen  ! ” said  he,  in  that  tone  of  care^ 


330 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


less  gayety  which,  in  spite  of  so  much  grief  and  so  many 
crosses,  he  had  never  lost.  “ The  Frenchmen  ! my  con- 
solation ! ” Athos  and  D’Artagnan  bowed. 

“ Duke,  conduct  these  gentlemen  into  my  study.  — I 
am  at  your  service,  Messieurs,”  added  he,  in  French. 
And  he  promptly  expedited  his  court,  to  return  to  his 
Frenchmen,  as  he  called  them.  “ M.  d’Artagnan,”  said 
he,  as  he  entered  his  cabinet,  “ I am  glad  to  see  you 
again.” 

“ Sire,  my  joy  is  at  its  height  at  having  the  honor  to 
salute  your  Majesty  in  your  own  palace  of  St.  James.” 

“ Monsieur,  you  have  been  willing  to  render  me  a great 
service,  and  I owe  you  my  gratitude  for  it.  If  I did  not 
fear  to  intrude  upon  the  rights  of  our  general  comman- 
dant, I would  offer  you  some  post  worthy  of  you  near 
our  person.” 

“Sire,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  “I  have  quitted  the  ser- 
vice of  the  King  of  France,  making  my  prince  a promise 
not  to  serve  any  other  king.” 

“ Humph  ! ” said  Charles,  “ I am  sorry  to  hear  that.  I 
should  like  to  do  much  for  you ; you  please  me.” 

“ Sire  — ” 

“ But  let  us  see,”  said  Charles,  with  a smile,  “ if  we 
cannot  make  you  break  your  word.  — Duke,  assist  me. — 
If  you  were  offered — that  is  to  say,  if  I offered  you  the 
chief  command  of  my  Musketeers  ? ” D’Artagnan  bowed 
lower  than  before. 

“ I should  have  the  regret  to  refuse  what  your  gracious 
Majesty  would  offer  me,”  said  lie.  “A  gentleman  has 
but  his  word ; and  that  word,  as  I have  had  the  honor 
to  tell  your  Majesty,  is  engaged  to  the  King  of  France.” 

“We  will  say  no  more  about  it,  then,”  said  the  king, 
turning  towards  Athos,  and  leaving  D’Artagnan  plunged 
in  the  deepest  pangs  of  disappointment. 


THE  AUDIENCE. 


331 


“Ah  ! I said  so,”  muttered  the  musketeer.  “ Words! 
words ! Court  holy  water  ! Kings  have  always  a mar- 
vellous talent  for  offering  us  that  which  they  know  we 
will  not  accept,  and  in  appearing  generous  without 
risk.  Tool ! — triple  fool  that  I was  to  have  hoped  for  a 
moment ! ” 

During  this  time  Charles  had  taken  the  hand  of  Athos. 
“ Count,”  said  he,  “you  have  been  to  me  a second  father ; 
the  services  you  have  rendered  me  are  above  all  price.  I 
have  thought  of  a recompense,  notwithstanding.  You 
were  created  by  my  father  a Knight  of  the  Garter,  — that 
is  an  order  which  all  the  kings  of  Europe  cannot  bear; 
by  the  queen  regent,  Knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  — which 
is  an  order  not  less  illustrious ; I join  to  it  that  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  which  the  King  of  France  has  sent  me,  to 
whom  the  King  of  Spain,  his  father-in-law,  gave  two  on 
the  occasion  of  his  marriage ; but,  in  return,  I have  a 
service  to  ask  of  you.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  with  confusion,  “the  Golden  Fleece 
for  me,  when  the  King  of  France  is  the  only  person  in 
my  country  who  enjoys  that  distinction  ! ” 

“ I wish  you  to  be,  in  your  country  and  elsewhere,  the 
equal  of  all  those  whom  sovereigns  have  honored  with 
their  favor,”  said  Charles,  drawing  the  chain  from  his 
neck ; “ and  I am  sure,  Count,  my  father  smiles  on  me 
from  the  depths  of  his  tomb.” 

“ It  is  unaccountably  strange,”  said  D’Artagnan  to 
himself,  while  his  friend,  on  his  knees,  received  the  emi- 
nent order  which  the  king  conferred  on  him,  — “ it  is 
almost  incredible  that  I have  always  seen  showers  of 
prosperity  fall  upon  all  who  surrounded  me,  and  that 
not  a drop  ever  reached  me  ! If  I were  a jealous  man,  it 
would  be  enough  to  make  me  tear  my  hair,  by  my  word 
of  honor  ! ” 


332 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Athos  rose  from  his  knees,  and  Charles  embraced  him 
tenderly.  “ General ! ” said  he  to  Monk  ; then  stopping 
with  a smile,  “ Pardon  me,  — duke  I mean.  No  wonder  if 
I mistake  ; the  word  ‘ duke  ’ is  too  short  for  me,  I always 
seek  for  some  title  to  elongate  it.  I should  wish  to  see 
you  so  near  my  throne  that  I might  say  to  you,  as  to 
Louis  XIV.,  ‘ My  brother  ! ’ Oh  ! I have  it ; and  you  will 
be  almost  my  brother,  for  I make  you  viceroy  of  Ireland 
and  Scotland,  my  dear  duke.  So,  after  that  fashion, 
henceforward  I shall  not  make  a mistake.” 

The  duke  seized  the  hand  of  the  king,  but  without  en- 
thusiasm, without  joy,  as  he  did  everything.  His  heart, 
however,  had  been  moved  by  this  last  favor.  Charles,  by 
skilfully  husbanding  his  generosity,  had  left  the  duke 
time  to  wish,  although  he  might  not  have  wished  for  so 
much  as  was  given  him. 

“ Mordioux!  ” grumbled  D’Artagnan,  “there  is  the 
shower  beginning  again ! Oh,  it  is  enough  to  turn  one’s 
brain  ! ” and  he  turned  away  with  an  air  so  sorrowful  and 
so  comically  piteous,  that  the  king  could  not  restrain  a 
smile.  Monk  was  preparing  to  leave  the  cabinet  to  take 
leave  of  Charles. 

“ What  ! my  trusty  and  well-beloved,”  said  the  king  to 
the  duke,  “ are  you  going  h ” 

“ If  it  please  your  Majesty,  for  in  truth  I am  tired. 
The  emotions  of  the  day  have  worn  me  out ; I need 
repose.” 

“ But,”  said  the  king,  “you  are  not  going  without  M. 
d’Artagnan,  I hope.” 

“ Why  not,  Sire  ? ” said  the  old  warrior. 

“Well  ! you  know  very  well  why,”  said  the  king. 

Monk  looked  at  Charles  with  astonishment. 

“I  beg  your  Majesty’s  pardon.  I do  not  know  — what 
you  mean.” 


THE  AUDIENCE. 


333 


“ Oh  ! possibly  not ; but  if  you  forget,  M.  d’Artagnan 
does  not.” 

Astonishment  was  painted  on  the  face  of  the  musketeer. 

Ci  Well,  then,  Duke,”  said  the  king,  “do  you  not  lodge 
with  M.  d’Artagnan  ? ” 

“ I have  the  honor  to  offer  M.  d’Artagnan  a lodging ; 
yes,  Sire.” 

“ That  idea  is  your  own,  and  yours  solely  h ” 

“ Mine  and  mine  only ; yes,  Sire.” 

“ Well ! but  it  could  not  be  otherwise,  — the  prisoner 
is  always  at  the  home  of  his  conqueror.” 

Monk  colored  in  his  turn.  “ Ah  ! that  is  true,”  said 
he  ; “ I am  M.  d’Artagnan ’s  prisoner.” 

“ Without  doubt,  Monk,  since  you  are  not  yet  ran- 
somed ; but  do  not  let  that  concern  you.  It  was  I who 
took  you  out  of  M.  d’Artagnan’s  hands,  and  it  is  I who 
will  pay  your  ransom.” 

The  eyes  of  D’Artagnan  regained  their  gayety  and 
their  brilliancy.  The  Gascon  began  to  comprehend. 
Charles  advanced  towards  him. 

“ The  general,”  said  he,  “ is  not  rich,  and  cannot  pay 
you  what  he  is  worth.  I am  richer,  certainly  ; but  now 
that  he  is  a duke,  and  if  not  a king,  almost  a king,  he  is 
worth  a sum  I could  not  perhaps  pay.  Come,  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan,  be  moderate  with  me  ; how  much  do  I owe  you  % ” 

D’Artagnan,  delighted  at  the  turn  things  were  taking, 
but  not  for  a moment  losing  his  self-possession,  replied  : 
“ Sire,  your  Majesty  has  no  occasion  to  be  alarmed. 
When  I had  the  good  fortune  to  take  his  Grace,  M.  Monk 
was  only  a general : it  is  therefore  only  a general’s  ran- 
som that  is  due  to  me.  But  if  the  general  will  have  the 
kindness  to  deliver  me  his  sword,  I shall  consider  myself 
paid ; for  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  but  the  general’s 
sword  which  is  worth  so  much  as  himself.” 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


o34 


“ Odds  fish  ! as  my  father  said,”  cried  Charles.  “ That 
is  a gallant  proposal,  and  a gallant  man,  is  he  not,  Duke  1 ” 

“ Upon  my  honor,  yes,  Sire  ; ” and  he  drew  his  sword. 
“ Monsieur,”  said  he  to  D’Artagnan,  “ here  is  what  you 
demand.  Many  may  have  handled  a better  blade;  but 
however  modest  mine  may  be,  I have  never  surrendered 
it  to  any  one.” 

D’Artagnan  received  with  pride  the  sword  which  had 
just  made  a king. 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” cried  Charles  II. ; “ what ! a sword  that 
has  restored  me  to  my  throne  to  go  out  of  the  kingdom, 
and  not,  one  day,  to  figure  among  the  ornaments  of 
my  crown ! No,  on  my  soul  ! that  shall  not  be.  Cap- 
tain d’Artagnan,  I will  give  you  two  hundred  thousand 
livres  for  your  sword  ; if  that  is  too  little,  say  so.” 

“ It  is  too  little,  Sire,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  with  inimi- 
table seriousness.  “ In  the  first  place,  I do  not  at  all 
wish  to  sell  it ; but  your  Majesty  desires  me  to  do  so, 
and  that  is  an  order.  I obey,  then ; but  the  respect  I 
owe  to  the  illustrious  warrior  who  hears  me,  commands 
me  to  estimate  at  a half  more  the  reward  of  my  victory. 
I ask,  then,  three  hundred  thousand  livres  for  the  sword, 
or  I will  give  it  to  your  Majesty  for  nothing;”  and 
taking  it  by  the  point  he  presented  it  to  the  king. 
Charles  broke  into  hilarious  laughter. 

“ A gallant  man,  and  a joyous  companion  ! Odds  fish  ! 
is  he  not,  Duke  h is  he  not,  Count  ^ He  pleases  me ! 
I like  him  ! Here,  Chevalier  d’Artagnan,  take  this ; ” 
and  going  to  the  table,  he  took  a pen  and  wrote  an  order 
upon  his  treasurer  for  three  hundred  thousand  livres. 

D’Artagnan  took  it,  and  turning  gravely  towards  Monk, 
“ I have  still  asked  too  little,  I know,”  said  he ; “ but  be- 
lieve me,  Monsieur  the  Duke,  I would  rather  have  died 
than  allow  myself  to  be  governed  by  avarice.” 


THE  AUDIENCE. 


335 


The  king  began  to  laugh  again,  like  the  happiest 
cockney  of  his  kingdom. 

“ You  will  come  and  see  me  again  before  you  go, 
Chevalier V1  said  he;  “I  shall  want  to  lay  in  a stock  of 
gayety,  now  my  Frenchmen  are  leaving  me.” 

“Ah,  Sire,  it  shall  not  be  with  the  gayety  as  with  the 
duke’s  sword ; I will  give  it  to  your  Majesty  gratis,” 
replied  D’Artagnan,  whose  feet  scarcely  seemed  to  touch 
the  ground. 

“And  you,  Count,”  added  Charles,  turning  towards 
Athos,  “ come  again,  also ; I have  an  important  message 
to  confide  to  you.  Your  hand,  Duke.”  Monk  pressed 
the  hand  of  the  king. 

“ Adieu,  gentlemen  ! ” said  Charles,  holding  out  each  of 
his  hands  to  the  twxo  Frenchmen,  who  carried  them  to 
their  lips. 

“Well,”  said  Athos,  when  they  were  out  of  the  palace, 
“ are  you  satisfied  ? ” 

“ Hush  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  wild  with  joy,  “ I am  not 
yet  returned  from  the  treasurer’s  ; the  spout  may  fall 
upon  my  head.” 


336 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

OF  THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 

D’Artagnan  lost  no  time ; and  as  soon  as  the  thing  was 
suitable  and  opportune,  he  paid  a visit  to  the  lord- 
treasurer  of  his  Majesty.  He  had  then  the  satisfaction 
of  exchanging  a piece  of  paper  covered  with  very  ugly  writ- 
ing for  a prodigious  number  of  crowns,  recently  stamped 
with  the  image  of  his  very  gracious  Majesty  Charles  II. 
D’Artagnan  easily  recovered  his  self-possession ; and  yet 
upon  this  occasion  he  could  not  help  evincing  a joy  which 
the  reader  will  perhaps  comprehend,  if  he  deigns  to  have 
some  indulgence  for  a man  who,  since  his  birth,  had 
never  seen  so  many  pieces  and  rouleaux  of  pieces  placed 
together  in  an  order  truly  agreeable  to  the  eye.  The 
treasurer  placed  all  these  rouleaux  in  bags,  and  closed 
each  bag  with  a stamp  of  the  arms  of  England,  — a favor 
which  treasurers  do  not  accord  to  everybody.  Then, 
impassive,  and  with  all  the  politeness  that  should  be 
shown  to  a man  honored  with  the  friendship  of  the  king, 
he  said  to  D’Artagnan,  — 

“Take  away  your  money,  sir.” 

Your  money ! These  words  made  a thousand  chords 
vibrate  in  the  heart  of  D’Artagnan,  which  he  had  never 
felt  before.  He  had  the  bags  packed  in  a small  cart,  and 
returned  home  meditating  profoundly.  A man  who  pos- 
sesses three  hundred  thousand  livres  can  no  longer  expect 
to  wear  a smooth  brow ; a wrinkle  for  every  hundred 
thousand  livres  is  not  too  much.  D’Artagnan  shut  him- 


OF  THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES- 


37 


self  up,  ate  no  dinner,  closed  his  door  against  everybody, 
and  with  a lighted  lamp  and  a loaded  pistol  on  the  table, 
watched  all  night,  ruminating  upon  the  means  of  pre- 
venting these  lovely  crowns,  which  from  the  coffers  of 
the  king  had  passed  into  his  coffers,  from  passing  from 
his  coffers  into  the  pockets  of  any  thief  whatever.  The 
best  means  discovered  by  the  Gascon  was  to  enclose  his 
treasure,  for  the  present,  under  locks  so  solid  that  no 
wrist  could  break  them,  and  so  complicated  that  no  com- 
mon key  could  open  them.  D’Artagnan  remembered  that 
the  English  have  great  skill  in  mechanics  and  conserva- 
tive industry ; and  he  determined  to  go  in  the  morning 
in  search  of  a mechanic  who  would  sell  him  a strong- 
box. He  did  not  go  far.  Master  Will  Jobson,  dwelling 
in  Piccadilly,  listened  to  his  propositions,  comprehended 
his  dilemma,  and  promised  to  make  him  a safety-lock 
that  should  relieve  him  from  all  future  fear. 

“I  will  give  you,”  said  he,  “a  piece  of  mechanism 
entirely  new.  At  the  first  serious  attempt  upon  your 
lock,  an  invisible  plate  will  open  of  itself  and  a small 
cannon,  equally  invisible,  will  vomit  forth  a pretty  copper 
bullet  of  eight-ounce  weight,  which  will  knock  down  the 
intruder,  and  not  without  a loud  report.  What  do  you 
think  of  \tV’ 

“ I think  it  very  ingenious,”  cried  D’Artagnan ; “ the 
little  copper  bullet  pleases  me  mightily.  So  now,  Mon- 
sieur the  mechanic,  the  terms  ” 

“ A fortnight  for  the  execution,  and  fifteen  thousand 
livres,  payable  on  delivery,”  replied  the  artisan. 

D’Artagnan ’s  brow  darkened.  A fortnight  was  delay 
enough  to  allow  the  thieves  of  London  time  to  remove 
all  occasion  for  the  strong  box.  As  to  the  fifteen  thou- 
sand livres,  that  would  be  paying  too  dear  for  what  a 
little  vigilance  would  procure  him  for  nothing. 
vol.  i.  — 22 


338 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I will  think  of  it,”  said  he;  “thank  you,  Monsieur.” 
And  he  returned  home  at  full  speed ; nobody  had  yet 
touched  his  treasure. 

That  same  day,  Athos  paid  his  friend  a visit,  and 
found  him  so  thoughtful  that  he  could  not  help  express- 
ing his  surprise. 

“ How  is  this]  ” said  he,  “you  are  rich  and  not  gay,  — 
you,  who  were  so  anxious  for  wealth  ! ” 

“ My  friend,  the  pleasures  to  which  we  are  not  accus- 
tomed oppress  us  more  than  the  griefs  with  which  we  are 
familiar.  Give  me  your  opinion,  if  you  please.  I can  ask 
you,  who  have  always  had  money  : when  we  have  money, 
what  do  we  do  with  it  ] ” 

“ That  depends.” 

“What  have  you  done  with  yours,  seeing  that  it  has 
not  made  you  a miser  or  a prodigal  ] For  avarice  dries  up 
the  heart,  and  prodigality  drowns  it,  — is  not  that  so  ] ” 
“Fabricius  could  not  have  spoken  more  justly.  But, 
in  truth,  my  money  has  never  been  a burden  to  me.” 

“ How  so  1 Do  you  place  it  out  at  interest  ] ” 

“No;  you  know  I have  a tolerably  handsome  house, 
and  that  house  composes  the  better  part  of  my  prop- 
erty.” 

“ I know  it  does.” 

“ So  that  you  can  be  as  rich  as  I am,  and  indeed  richer, 
whenever  you  like,  by  the  same  means.” 

“ But  your  rents,  — do  you  lay  them  by  ] ” 

“ No.” 

“ What  do  you  think  of  a chest  concealed  in  a wall  ] ” 

“ I never  made  use  of  such  a thing.” 

“ Then  you  must  have  some  confidant,  some  safe  man 
of  business,  who  pays  you  interest  at  a fair  rate.” 

“Not  at  all.” 

“ Good  heavens  ! what  do  you  do  with  it,  then  ] ” 


OF  THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


339 


“ I spend  all  I have,  and  I have  only  what  I spend,  my 
dear  D’Artagnan.” 

“ Ah  ! that  may  be.  But  you  are  something  of  a 
prince ; fifteen  or  sixteen  thousand  livres  melt  away 
between  your  fingers  ; and  then  you  have  expenses  and 
appearances  — ” 

“ Well,  I don’t  see  why  you  should  be  less  of  a noble  than 
I am,  my  friend ; your  money  would  be  quite  sufficient.” 
“ Three  hundred  thousand  livres ! Two  thirds  too 
much  ! ” 

“ I beg  your  pardon  — did  you  not  tell  me  % — I thought 
X heard  you  say — I fancied  you  had  a partner  — ” 

“Ah  ! mordioux  ! that’s  true,”  cried  D’Artagnan,  col- 
oring; “there  is  Planchet.  I had  forgotten  Planchet, 
upon  my  life  ! Well,  there  are  my  hundred  thousand 
crowns  broken  into  ! That ’s  a pity ; it  was  a round  sum, 
and  sounded  well.  — That  is  true,  Athos ; I am  no  longer 
rich.  What  a memory  you  have  ! ” 

“ Tolerably  good  ; yes,  thank  God  ! ” 

“ That  brave  Planchet  ! ” grumbled  D’Artagnan  ; “ he 
has  not  had  a bad  dream  ! What  a speculation  ! Peste  ! 
Well,  what  is  said  is  said  ! ” 

“ How  much  are  you  to  give  him  V9 
“Oh,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “he  is  not  a bad  fellow;  I 
shall  arrange  matters  with  him.  I have  had  a great  deal 
of  trouble,  you  see,  and  expenses ; all  that  must  be  taken 
into  account.” 

“ My  dear  friend,  I can  depend  upon  you,  and  have  no 
fear  for  the  worthy  Idanchet ; his  interests  are  better  in 
your  hands  than  in  his  own.  But  now  that  you  have 
nothing  more  to  do  here,  we  will  set  out,  if  you  please. 
You  can  go  and  thank  his  Majesty,  ask  if  he  has  any 
commands,  and  in  six  days  we  may  be  able  to  get  sight 
of  the  towers  of  Notre-Dame.” 


340 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ My  friend,  I am  most  anxious  to  be  off,  and  will  go 
at  once  and  pay  my  respects  to  the  king.” 

“ I,”  said  Athos,  “ am  going  to  call  upon  some  friends 
in  the  city,  and  shall  be  then  at  your  service.” 

“ Will  you  lend  me  Grimaud  ? ” 

“ With  all  my  heart.  What  do  you  want  to  do  with 
him  « ” 

“ Something  very  simple,  and  which  will  not  fatigue 
him ; I will  only  beg  him  to  take  charge  of  my  pistols, 
which  lie  there  on  the  table  near  that  coffer.” 

“Very  well!”  replied  Athos,  imperturbably. 

“ And  he  will  not  stir,  will  he  ” 

“ Not  more  than  the  pistols  themselves.” 

“ Then  I will  go  and  take  leave  of  his  Majesty.  Au 
revoir  ! ” 

D’Artagnan  arrived  at  St.  James’s,  where  Charles  IT., 
who  was  busy  writing,  kept  him  in  the  antechamber  a full 
hour.  While  walking  about  in  the  gallery,  from  the  door 
to  the  window,  from  the  window  to  the  door,  he  thought 
he  saw  a cloak  like  Athos’s  cross  the  vestibule  ; but  at  the 
moment  he  was  going  to  ascertain  if  it  were  he,  the  usher 
summoned  him  to  his  Majesty’s  presence.  Charles  II. 
rubbed  his  hands  at  receiving  the  thanks  of  our  friend. 

“Chevalier,”  said  he,  “you  are  wrong  in  expressing 
gratitude  to  me ; I have  not  paid  you  a quarter  of  the 
value  of  the  history  of  the  box  into  which  you  put  the 
brave  general  — the  excellent  Duke  of  Albemarle,  I 
mean ; ” and  the  king  laughed  heartily. 

D’Artagnan  did  not  think  it  proper  to  interrupt  his 
Majesty,  and  bowed  with  much  modesty. 

“A  propos ,”  continued  Charles,  “do  you  think  my 
dear  Monk  has  really  pardoned  you  ? ” 

“ Pardoned  me  ! yes,  I hope  so,  Sire  ! ” 

“ Eh  ! but  it  was  a cruel  trick  ! Odds  fish  ! to  pack  up 


OF  THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


341 


the  first  personage  of  the  English  Revolution  like  a her* 
ring!  In  your  place,  I would  not  trust  him,  Chevalier.” 

“ But,  Sire  — ” 

“ Yes,  I know  very  well  that  Monk  calls  you  his  friend. 
But  he  has  too  penetrating  an  eye  not  to  have  a memory, 
and  too  lofty  a brow  not  to  be  very  proud,  you  know,  — 
grande  super  cilium.  ’ ’ 

“I  certainly  will  learn  Latin,”  said  D’Artagnan  to 
himself. 

“ But  stop,”  cried  the  merry  monarch,  “ I must  man- 
age your  reconciliation ; I know  how  to  set  about  it ; 
so  — ” 

D’Artagnan  bit  his  mustache.  “ Will  your  Majesty 
permit  me  to  tell  you  the  truth  1 ” 

“ Speak,  Chevalier,  speak.” 

“ Well,  Sire,  you  alarm  me  greatly.  If  your  Majesty 
undertakes  the  affair,  as  you  seem  inclined  to  do,  I am  a 
lost  man ; the  duke  will  have  me  assassinated.” 

The  king  burst  into  a fresh  roar  of  laughter,  which 
changed  D’Artagnan’s  alarm  into  downright  terror. 

“ Sire,  I beg  you  to  allow  me  to  settle  this  matter 
myself ; and  if  your  Majesty  has  no  further  need  of  my 
services  — ” 

“ No,  Chevalier.  What ! do  you  want  to  leave  us  1 ” 
replied  Charles,  with  an  hilarity  that  grew  more  and 
more  alarming. 

“ If  your  Majesty  has  no  more  commands  for  me.” 

Charles  became  more  serious. 

“ One  single  thing.  See  my  sister,  Lady  Henrietta. 
Do  you  know  her  ^ ” 

“ No,  Sire,  but  — an  old  soldier  like  me  is  not  an 
agreeable  spectacle  for  a young  and  gay  princess.” 

“ Ay ! but  my  sister  must  know  you  ; she  must,  at  her 
need,  have  you  to  depend  upon.” 


342 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Sire,  every  one  that  is  dear  to  your  Majesty  will  be 
sacred  to  me.” 

“ Very  well ! — Parry  ! Come  here,  Parry.” 

The  lateral  door  opened ; and  Parry  entered,  his  face 
beaming  with  pleasure  as  soon  as  he  saw  D’Artagnan. 

“ What  is  Rochester  doing  'l  ” said  the  king. 

“ He  is  upon  the  canal  with  the  ladies,”  replied  Parry. 

“ And  Buckingham  ? 99 

“ He  is  there  also.” 

“ That  is  wrell.  You  will  conduct  the  chevalier  to  Vil- 
liers,  — that  is,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  Chevalier, — 
and  beg  the  duke  to  introduce  M.  d’Artagnan  to  the 
Princess  Henrietta/’ 

Parry  bowed  and  smiled  to  D’Artagnan. 

“Chevalier,”  continued  the  king,  “this  is  your  parting 
audience ; you  can  aftenvards  set  out  as  soon  as  you 
please.” 

“ Sire,  I thank  you.” 

“ But  be  sure  you  make  your  peace  with  Monk  ! ” 

“ Oh,  Sire  — ” 

“You  know  there  is  one  of  my  vessels  at  your  disposal  1 ” 

“ Sire,  you  overpower  me ; I cannot  think  of  putting 
your  Majesty’s  officers  to  inconvenience  on  my  account.” 

The  king  slapped  D’Artagnan  upon  the  shoulder. 
“ Nobody  will  be  inconvenienced  on  your  account,  Chev- 
alier, but  for  that  of  an  ambassador  I am  about  sending 
to  France,  and  to  whom  you  will  serve  willingly  as  a com- 
panion, I fancy,  for  you  know  him.” 

D’Artagnan  appeared  astonished. 

“He  is  a certain  Comte  de  la  Fere,  — he  you  call 
Athos,”  added  the  king  ; terminating  the  conversation,  as 
he  had  begun  it,  by  a joyous  burst  of  laughter.  “ Adieu, 
Chevalier,  adieu.  Love  me  as  I love  you.”  And  there- 
upon, making  a sign  to  Parry  to  ask  if  there  were  any 


OF  THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


343 


one  waiting  for  him  in  the  adjoining  cabinet,  the  king 
disappeared  into  that  cabinet,  leaving  the  place  to  the 
chevalier,  much  astonished  with  this  singular  audience. 
The  old  man  took  his  arm  in  a friendly  way,  and  led  him 
towards  the  garden. 


344 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

UPON  THE  CANAL. 

Upon  the  canal  of  waters  of  an  opaque  green,  bordered 
with  marble,  upon  which  time  had  already  scattered  black 
spots  and  tufts  of  mossy  grass,  there  glided  majestically 
a long  flat  boat,  ornamented  with  the  arms  of  England, 
surmounted  by  a dais,  and  carpeted  with  long  damasked 
stuffs,  which  trailed  their  fringes  in  the  water.  Eight 
rowers,  leaning  lazily  to  their  oars,  made  it  move  upon 
the  canal  with  the  graceful  slowness  of  the  swans,  which, 
disturbed  in  their  ancient  possessions  by  the  approach  of 
the  boat,  looked  from  a distance  at  this  splendid  and 
noisy  pageant.  We  say  noisy,  — for  the  boat  contained 
four  players  upon  the  guitar  and  the  lute,  two  singers, 
and  several  courtiers,  all  sparkling  with  gold  and  pre- 
cious stones,  and  showing  their  white  teeth  in  emulation 
of  each  other,  to  please  Lady  Henrietta  Stuart,  grand- 
daughter of  Henry  IV.,  daughter  of  Charles  I.,  and  sister 
of  Charles  II.,  who  occupied  the  seat  of  honor  under  the 
dais  of  the  boat.  We  know  this  young  princess  ; we  have 
seen  her  at  the  Louvre  with  her  mother,  wanting  wood, 
wanting  bread,  and  fed  by  the  assistant-bishop  and  the 
Parliament.  She  had,  therefore,  like  her  brothers,  passed 
through  a troublous  youth ; then,  all  at  once,  she  had 
just  awakened  from  a long  and  horrible  dream,  seated  on 
the  steps  of  a throne,  surrounded  by  courtiers  and  flat- 
terers. Like  Mary  Stuart  on  leaving  prison,  she  aspired 
not  only  to  life  and  liberty,  but  to  power  and  wealth. 


UPON  THE  CANAL. 


345 


Lady  Henrietta,  in  growing,  had  attained  remarkable 
beauty,  which  the  recent  restoration  had  rendered  cele- 
brated. Misfortune  had  taken  from  her  the  lustre  of 
pride,  but  prosperity  had  restored  it  to  her.  She  was 
resplendent,  then,  in  her  joy  and  her  happiness,  — like 
those  hot-house  flowers  which,  forgotten  during  a night 
of  the  first  frosts  of  autumn,  have  hung  their  heads,  but 
which  on  the  morrow,  warmed  once  more  by  the  atmos- 
phere in  which  they  were  born,  rise  again  with  greater 
splendor  than  ever.  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  son 
of  him  who  played  so  conspicuous  a part  in  the  early 
chapters  of  this  history, — Yilliers  of  Buckingham,  a 
handsome  cavalier,  melancholy  with  women,  a jester  with 
men,  — and  Wilmot,  Lord  Rochester,  a jester  with  both 
sexes,  were  standing  at  this  moment  before  Lady  Henri- 
etta, disputing  the  privilege  of  making  her  smile.  As 
to  that  young  and  beautiful  princess,  reclining  upon  a 
cushion  of  velvet  bordered  with  gold,  her  hands  hanging 
listlessly  so  as  to  dip  in  the  water,  she  listened  carelessly 
to  the  musicians  without  hearing  them,  and  heard  the 
two  courtiers  without  appearing  to  listen  to  them.  This 
Lady  Henrietta,  this  charming  creature,  this  woman 
who  joined  the  graces  of  Trance  to  those  of  England, 
not  having  yet  loved,  was  cruel  in  her  coquetry.  No 
smile  — that  innocent  favor  of  young  girls  — bright- 
ened her  countenance ; and  if  at  times  she  raised  her 
eyes,  it  was  to  fasten  them  upon  one  or  other  of  the 
cavaliers  with  such  a fixity  that  their  gallantry,  bold  as 
it  was  through  experience,  took  the  alarm,  and  became 
timid. 

In  the  mean  while  the  boat  continued  its  course,  the 
musicians  made  a great  noise,  and  the  courtiers  began, 
like  them,  to  be  out  of  breath.  Besides,  the  excursion 
became  doubtless  monotonous  to  the  princess;  for,  all  at 


346 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


once,  shaking  her  head  with  an  air  of  impatience,  “ Como, 
gentlemen,  enough  of  this;  let  us  land.’ 7 

“ Ah,  Madam,”  said  Buckingham,  “we  are  very  un- 
fortunate ! We  have  not  succeeded  in  making  the 
excursion  agreeable  to  your  Highness.7 7 

“My  mother  expects  me,77  replied  the  princess;  “and 
I must  frankly  admit,  gentlemen,  I am  ennuyee ; ” and 
while  uttering  this  cruel  word,  Henrietta  endeavored  to 
console  by  a look  each  of  the  young  men,  who  appeared 
terrified  at  such  frankness.  The  look  produced  its  effect, 
the  two  faces  brightened ; but  immediately,  as  if  the 
royal  coquette  thought  she  had  done  too  much  for  simple 
mortals,  she  made  a movement,  turned  her  back  to  both 
her  adorers,  and  appeared  plunged  in  a reverie  in  which 
it  was  evident  they  had  no  part. 

Buckingham  bit  his  lips  with  anger  ; for  he  was  truly 
in  love  with  Lady  Henrietta,  and  in  that  capacity  took 
everything  in  a serious  light.  Rochester  bit  his  lips 
likewise ; but  as  his  wit  always  dominated  over  his  heart, 
it  was  purely  and  simply  to  repress  a malicious  burst  of 
laughter.  The  princess  was  then  allowing  the  eyes  she 
turned  from  the  young  nobles  to  wander  over  the  green 
and  flowery  turf  of  the  park,  when  she  perceived  Parry 
and  D’Artagnan  at  a distance. 

“ Who  is  coming  yonder'? 77  said  she. 

The  two  young  men  turned  round  with  the  rapidity  of 
lightning. 

“Parry,77  replied  Buckingham;  “nobody  but  Parry.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,77  said  Rochester,  “but  I think  he 
has  a companion.77 

“ Yes,77  said  the  princess,  at  first  with  languor,  but 
then  — “ What  mean  those  words,  ‘ Nobody  but  Parry ; 7 
say,  my  Lord  i 77 

“Because,  Madam,77  replied  Buckingham,  piqued,  “be- 


UPON  THE  CANAL. 


347 


cause  the  faithful  Parry,  the  wandering  Parry,  the  eternal 
Parry,  is  not,  I believe,  of  much  consequence.” 

“You  are  mistaken,  Duke.  Parry — the  wandering 
Parry,  as  you  call  him  — has  always  wandered  for  the 
service  of  my  family,  and  the  sight  of  that  old  man 
always  gives  me  satisfaction.” 

Lady  Henrietta  followed  the  usual  course  of  pretty 
women,  particularly  coquettish  women ; she  passed  from 
caprice  to  contradiction.  The  gallant  had  undergone 
the  caprice ; the  courtier  must  bend  beneath  the  con- 
tradictory humor.  Buckingham  bowed,  but  made  no 
reply. 

“ It  is  true,  Madam,”  said  Rochester,  bowing  in  his 
turn,  “ that  Parry  is  the  model  of  servants ; but,  Madam, 
he  is  no  longer  young,  and  we  only  laugh  at  seeing  cheer- 
ful objects.  Is  an  old  man  a gay  object?  ” 

“Enough,  my  Lord,”  said  the  princess,  coolly;  “the 
subject  of  conversation  is  unpleasant  to  me.” 

Then,  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  “ It  is  really  unaccount- 
able,” said  she,  “how  little  regard  my  brother’s  friends 
have  for  his  servants.” 

“ Ah,  Madam,”  cried  Buckingham,  “ your  Grace  pierces 
my  heart  with  a poniard  forged  by  your  own  hands.” 

“ What  is  the  meaning  of  that  speech,  which  is  turned 
so  like  a French  madrigal,  Duke  ? I do  not  understand 
it.” 

“It  means,  Madam,  that  you  yourself,  so  good,  so 
charming,  so  sensible,  you  have  laughed  sometimes  — 
smiled,  I should  say  — at  the  idle  prattle  of  that  good 
Parry,  for  whom  your  Highness  to-day  entertains  such 
a marvellous  susceptibility.” 

‘cWell,  my  Lord,  if  I have  forgotten  myself  so  far,” 
said  Henrietta,  “ you  do  wrong  to  remind  me  of  it ; ” and 
she  made  a sign  of  impatience.  “The  good  Parry  wants 


348 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


to  speak  to  me,  I believe ; please  to  order  them  to  row  to 
the  shore,  my  Lord  Rochester.” 

Rochester  hastened  to  repeat  the  princess’s  command ; 
and,  a moment  after,  the  boat  touched  the  bank. 

“ Let  us  land,  gentlemen,”  said  Henrietta,  taking  the 
arm  which  Rochester  offered  to  her,  although  Buckingham 
was  nearer  to  her,  and  had  presented  his.  Then  Roches- 
ter, with  an  ill-dissembled  pride,  which  pierced  the  heart 
of  the  unhappy  Buckingham  through  and  through,  led 
the  princess  across  the  little  bridge  which  the  rowers  had 
cast  from  the  royal  boat  to  the  shore. 

“ Which  way  will  your  Highness  go  ? ” asked  Rochester. 

“ You  see,  my  Lord  ; towards  that  good  Parry,  who  is 
wandering,  as  my  Lord  Buckingham  says,  and  seeking 
me  with  eyes  weakened  by  the  tears  he  has  shed  over  our 
misfortunes.” 

“ Good  heavens  ! ” said  Rochester,  “ how  sad  your 
Highness  is  to-day  ! We  have,  in  truth,  the  air  of  ap- 
pearing ridiculous  fools  to  you,  Madam.” 

“ Speak  for  yourself,  my  Lord,”  interrupted  Bucking- 
ham, with  vexation ; “ for  my  part,  I displease  her  High- 
ness to  such  a degree  that  I appear  absolutely  nothing 
to  her.” 

Neither  Rochester  nor  the  princess  made  any  reply ; 
Henrietta  only  urged  her  cavalier  to  a quicker  pace. 
Buckingham  remained  behind,  and  took  advantage  of  this 
isolation  to  give  himself  up  to  such  rage  in  his  handker- 
chief, that  the  cambric  was  bitten  in  holes. 

“ Parry,  my  good  Parry,”  said  the  princess,  with  her 
gentle  voice,  “ corine  hither.  I see  you  are  seeking  for 
me,  and  I am  waiting  for  you.” 

“ Ah,  Madam,”  said  Rochester,  coming  charitably  to 
the  succor  of  his  companion,  remaining,  as  we  have  said, 
behind,  “if  Parry  cannot  see  your  royal  Highness,  the 


UPON  THE  CANAL. 


349 


man  who  follows  him  is  a sufficient  guide,  even  for  a blind 
man ; for  he  has  eyes  of  flame.  That  man  is  a double- 
lamped  lantern.” 

“ Lighting  a very  handsome  martial  countenance/’  said 
the  princess,  determined  to  be  as  ill-natured  as  possible. 
Rochester  bowed.  “ One  of  those  vigorous  soldiers’  heads 
seen  nowhere  but  in  France,”  added  the  princess,  with 
the  perseverance  of  a woman  sure  of  impunity. 

Rochester  and  Buckingham  looked  at  each  other,  as 
much  as  to  say,  “ What  can  be  the  matter  with  her  ] ” 

“ See,  my  Lord  Buckingham,  what  Parry  wants,”  said 
Henrietta;  “go!” 

The  young  man,  who  considered  this  order  as  a favor, 
resumed  his  courage,  and  hastened  to  meet  Parry,  who, 
followed  by  D’Artagnan,  advanced  slowly  on  account  of 
his  age.  D’Artagnan  walked  slowly  but  nobly,  as  D’Ar- 
tagnan doubled  by  the  third  of  a million  ought  to  walk,  — 
that  is  to  say,  without  conceit  or  swagger,  but  without 
timidity.  When  Buckingham,  who  had  been  very  eager 
to  comply  with  the  desire  of  the  princess,  had  stopped  at 
a marble  bench,  as  if  fatigued  with  the  few  steps  he  had 
gone,  — when  Buckingham,  we  say,  was  at  a distance  of 
only  a few  paces  from  Parry,  the  latter  recognized  him. 

“Ah,  my  Lord,”  cried  he,  quite  out  of  breath,  “will 
your  Grace  obey  the  king  ? ” 

“ In  what,  M.  Parry  1 ” said  the  young  man,  with  a 
coolness  tempered  by  a desire  of  making  himself  agree- 
able to  the  princess. 

“ Well,  his  Majesty  begs  your  Grace  to  present  this 
gentleman  to  Lady  Henrietta  Stuart.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  what  is  the  gentleman’s  name  1 ” 
said  the  duke,  haughtily. 

D’Artagnan,  as  we  know,  was  easily  affronted;  the 
tone  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  displeased  him.  He 


350 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


surveyed  the  courtier  from  head  to  foot,  and  two  flashes 
beamed  from  beneath  his  bent  brows.  But,  after  a 
struggle,  “M.  le  Chevalier  d’Artagnan,  my  Lord,”  replied 
he,  quietly. 

“ Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  that  informs  me  as  to  your 
name,  but  nothing  more.” 

“ That  is  to  say  ? ” 

“ That  is  to  say,  I do  not  know  you.” 

“ I am  more  fortunate  than  you,  Monsieur,”  replied 
D’Artagnan;  “ for  I have  had  the  honor  of  knowing 
much  of  your  family,  and  particularly  my  Lord  Duke  of 
Buckingham  your  illustrious  father.” 

“ My  father*?”  said  Buckingham.  “Well,  I think  I 
now  remember.  M.  le  Chevalier  d’Artagnan,  do  you 
say  ? ” 

D’Artagnan  bowed.  “ In  person,”  said  he. 

“ Pardon  me  ; but  are  you  one  of  those  Frenchmen 
who  had  secret  relations  with  my  father?”  • 

“ Exactly,  Monsieur  the  Duke.  I am  one  of  those 
Frenchmen.” 

“ Then,  Monsieur,  permit  me  to  say  that  it  was  strange 
my  father  never  heard  of  you  during  his  lifetime.” 

“Ho,  Monsieur,  but  he  heard  of  me  at  the  moment  of 
his  death  : it  was  I who  sent  to  him,  by  the  hands  of  a 
servant  of  Anne  of  Austria,  notice  of  the  dangers  which 
threatened  him;  unfortunately,  it  came  too  late.” 

“Never  mind,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham.  “I  un- 
derstand now,  that,  having  had  the  intention  of  rendering 
a service  to  the  father,  you  are  come  to  claim  the  protec- 
tion of  the  son.” 

“In  the  first  place,  my  Lord,”  replied  D’Artagnan, 
phlegmatically,  “ I claim  the  protection  of  no  man.  His 
Majesty  Charles  II.,  to  whom  I have  had  the  honor  of 
rendering  some  services,  — I may  tell  you,  my  Lord,  my 


UPON  THE  CANAL. 


351 


life  has  been  passed  in  such  occupations,  — King  Charles 
II.,  then,  who  wishes  to  honor  me  with  some  kindness, 
has  desired  I shall  be  presented  to  Lady  Henrietta,  his 
sister,  to  whom  I shall,  perhaps,  have  the  good  fortune 
to  be  of  service  hereafter.  Now,  the  king  knew  that  you 
at  this  moment  were  with  her  royal  Highness,  and  has 
sent  me  to  you  by  the  intermission  of  Parry.  There  is 
no  other  mystery.  I ask  absolutely  nothing  of  you  ; and 
if  you  will  not  present  me  to  her  royal  Highness,  I shall 
have  the  pain  of  doing  without  you,  and  the  courage  to 
present  myself.” 

“ At  least,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  determined 
to  have  the  last  word,  “ you  will  not  go  back  from  an 
explanation  provoked  by  yourself.” 

“ I never  go  back,  Monsieur,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ As  you  have  had  relations  with  my  father,  you  must 
be  acquainted  with  some  private  details  ? ” 

“ These  relations  are  already  far  removed  from  us,  my 
Lord,  for  you  were  not  then  born  ; and  as  to  some 
unfortunate  diamond  studs,  which  I received  from  his 
hands  and  carried  back  to  France,  it  is  really  not  worth 
while  awakening  so  many  remembrances.” 

“ Ah,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  warmly,  going  up 
to  D’Artagnan,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  him,  “ it  is 
you,  then,  — you  whom  my  father  sought  for  so  earnestly, 
and  who  had  a right  to  expect  so  much  from  us.” 

“ To  expect,  Monsieur ; in  truth,  that  is  my  strong 
point : all  my  life  I have  expected.” 

At  this  moment  the  princess,  who  was  tired  of  not 
seeing  the  stranger  approach  her,  arose  and  came  towards 
them. 

“ At  least,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  “you  shall 
not  wait  for  the  presentation  you  claim  of  me.”  Then 
turning  towards  the  princess,  and  bowing,  “ Madam,”  said 


352 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  young  mail,  “ the  king  your  brother  desires  me  to  have 
the  honor  of  presenting  to  your  Highness  M.  le  Chevalier 
d’Artagnan.” 

“ In  order  that  your  Highness  may  have,  at  your  need, 
a firm  support  and  a sure  friend,”  added  Parry. 

D’Artagnan  bowed. 

“ You  have  still  something  to  say,  Parry,1 ” replied  Hen- 
rietta, smiling  upon  D’Artagnan,  while  addressing  the 
old  servant. 

“ Yes,  Madam;  the  king  desires  you  to  preserve  re- 
ligiously in  your  memory  the  name,  and  to  remember 
the  merit,  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  to  whom  his  Majesty  owes, 
he  says,  the  recovery  of  his  kingdom.” 

Buckingham,  the  princess,  and  Rochester  looked  at  one 
another  in  astonishment. 

“ That,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  Buckingham,  “is  another 
little  secret,  of  which,  in  all  probability,  I shall  not  boast 
to  his  Majesty’s  son,  as  I have  done  to  you  with  respect 
to  the  diamond  studs.” 

“ Madam,”  said  Buckingham,  “ Monsieur  has  just  re- 
called to  my  memory,  for  the  second  time,  an  event  which 
excites  my  curiosity  to  such  a degree  that  I will  venture 
to  ask  your  permission  to  take  him  aside  for  a moment, 
to  converse  in  private.” 

“Do,  my  Lord,”  said  the  princess;  “but  restore  to 
the  sister  as  quickly  as  possible  this  friend  so  devoted 
to  the  brother ; ” and  she  took  the  arm  of  Rochester, 
while  Buckingham  took  that  of  D’Artagnan. 

“Oh,  tell  me,  Chevalier,”  said  Buckingham,  “all  that 
affair  of  the  diamonds,  which  nobody  knows  in  England, 
not  even  the  son  of  him  who  was  the  hero  of  it.” 

“ My  Lord,  one  person  alone  had  a right  to  relate  all 
that  affair,  as  you  call  it,  and  that  was  your  father;  he 
thought  proper  to  be  silent ; I must  beg  you  to  allow  me 


UPON  THE  CANAL. 


353 


to  be  so  likewise ; ” and  D’Artagnan  bowed  like  a 
man  upon  whom  it  was  evident  no  entreaties  could 
prevail. 

“Since  it  is  so,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  “pardon 
my  indiscretion,  I beg  you ; and  if  at  any  time  I should 
go  into  France — ” and  he  turned  round  to  take  a last 
look  at  the  princess,  who  took  but  little  notice  of  him, 
totally  occupied  as  she  was,  or  appeared  to  be,  with 
Rochester.  Buckingham  sighed. 

“Well  I’ * said  D’Artagnan. 

“ I was  saying  that  if,  any  day,  I were  to  go  into 
France  — ” 

“ You  will  go,  my  Lord,”  said  D’Artagnan ; “ I will 
answer  for  that.” 

“ And  how  so  ? ” 

“ Oh,  I have  strange  powers  of  prediction ; if  I do 
predict  anything,  I am  seldom  mistaken.  If,  then,  you 
do  come  to  France  1 ” 

“ Well,  then,  Monsieur,  I will  venture  to  beg  of  you,  of 
whom  kings  ask  that  valuable  friendship  which  restores 
crowns  to  them,  a little  of  that  great  interest  you  avowed 
for  my  father.” 

“ My  Lord,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  “ believe  me,  I shall 
deem  myself  highly  honored  if,  in  France,  you  remember 
having  seen  me  here.  And  now  permit  — ” 

Then,  turning  towards  the  princess,  “ Madame,”  said 
he,  “ your  Highness  is  a daughter  of  France ; and  in 
that  quality  I hope  to  see  you  again  in  Paris.  One  of 
my  happy  days  will  be  that  on  which  your  Highness 
shall  give  me  any  command  whatever,  which  will  assure 
me  that  you  have  not  forgotten  the  recommendations  of 
your  august  brother ; ” and  he  bowed  respectfully  to  the 
young  princess,  who  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss  with  a 
grace  wholly  royal. 

VOL.  t.  — ■ 23 


354 


THE  V1C0MTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Ah,  Madam,”  said  Buckingham,  in  a subdued  voice, 
66  what  can  a man  do  to  obtain  a similar  favor  from  your 
Highness  'l 19 

“ My  Lord,”  replied  Henrietta,  “ ask  M.  d’Artagnan ; 
he  will  tell  you.” 


HOW  d’artagnan  drew  a country-seat.  355 


CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  DREW,  AS  A FAIRY  MIGHT  HAVE  DONE, 
A COUNTRY-SEAT  FROM  A DEAL  BOX. 

The  king’s  words  regarding  the  wounded  pride  of  Monk 
had  inspired  D'Artagnan  with  no  little  apprehension. 
The  lieutenant  had  had,  all  his  life,  the  great  art  of 
choosing  his  enemies ; and  when  he  had  found  them 
implacable  and  invincible,  it  was  when  he  had  not  been 
able,  under  any  pretence,  to  make  them  otherwise.  But 
points  of  view  change  greatly  in  the  course  of  a life.  It 
is  a magic  lantern,  of  which  the  eye  of  man  every  year 
changes  the  aspects.  It  results  that  from  the  last  day  of 
a year  on  which  we  saw  white,  to  the  first  day  of  the  year 
on  which  we  shall  see  black,  there  is  but  the  interval  of 
a single  night. 

Now  D’Artagnan,  when  he  left  Calais  with  his  ten 
scamps,  would  have  hesitated  as  little  in  attacking  a 
Goliath,  a Nebuchadnezzar,  or  a Holofernes,  as  he  would 
in  crossing  swords  with  a recruit  or  cavilling  with  a land- 
lady. Then  he  resembled  the  sparrow-hawk,  which,  fast- 
ing, attacks  a ram.  Hunger  blinds  ; but  D’Artagnan 
satisfied,  D’Artagnan  rich,  D’Artagnan  a conqueror, 
D’Artagnan  proud  of  so  difficult  a triumph,  — D’Ar- 
tagnan had  too  much  to  lose  not  to  reckon,  figure  by 
figure,  with  probable  bad  fortune.  His  thoughts  were 
employed,  therefore,  all  the  way  on  the  road  from  his 
presentation,  with  one  thing ; and  that  was,  how  he  should 
manage  a man  like  Monk,  — a man  whom  Charles  himself. 


356 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


king  as  he  was,  managed  with  difficulty ; for,  scarcely 
established,  the  protected  might  again  stand  in  need  of 
the  protector,  and  would  consequently  not  refuse  him, 
such  being  the  case,  the  petty  satisfaction  of  transport- 
ing M.  cTArtagnan,  or  confining  him  in  one  of  the 
Middlesex  prisons,  or  drowning  him  on  his  passage  from 
Dover  to  Boulogne.  Such  sorts  of  satisfaction  kings  are 
accustomed  to  render  to  viceroys  without  disagreeable 
consequences.  It  would  not  be  at  all  necessary  for  the 
king  to  be  active  in  that  counterpart  of  the  piece  in 
which  Monk  should  take  his  revenge.  The  part  of  the 
king  would  be  confined  simply  to  pardoning  the  viceroy 
of  Ireland  all  he  should  undertake  against  D’Artagnan. 
Nothing  more  was  necessary  to  place  the  conscience  of 
the  Duke  of  Albemarle  at  rest  than  a te  absolvo  said  with 
a laugh,  or  the  scrawl  of  “ Charles  the  King  ” traced  at 
the  foot  of  a parchment ; and  with  these  two  words  pro- 
nounced, and  these  three  words  written,  poor  D’Artagnan 
was  forever  crushed  under  the  ruins  of  his  imagination. 
And  then  — a thing  sufficiently  disquieting  for  a man 
with  such  foresight  as  our  musketeer  — he  found  himself 
alone ; and  even  the  friendship  of  Athos  could  not  restore 
his  confidence.  Certainly,  if  the  affair  had  concerned  only 
a free  distribution  of  sword-thrusts,  the  musketeer  would 
have  reckoned  upon  his  companion ; but  in  delicate  mat- 
ters with  a king,  when  the  perhaps  of  an  unlucky  chance 
should  arise  in  justification  of  Monk  or  of  Charles  of 
England,  D’Artagnan  knew  Athos  well  enough  to  be 
sure  he  would  give  the  best  possible  coloring  to  the 
loyalty  of  the  survivor,  and  would  content  himself  with 
shedding  floods  of  tears  on  the  tomb  of  the  dead,  suppos- 
ing the  dead  to  be  his  friend,  and  afterwards  composing 
his  epitaph  in  the  most  pompous  superlatives. 

“Decidedly,”  thought  the  Gascon, — and  this  thought 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  DREW  A COUNTRY-SEAT.  357 

was  the  result  of  the  reflections  which  he  had  just  whis- 
pered to  himself,  and  which  we  have  repeated  aloud,  — 
“ decidedly,  I must  be  reconciled  with  M.  Monk,  and 
acquire  a proof  of  his  perfect  indifference  for  the  past. 
If,  which  God  forbid,  he  is  still  sulky  and  reserved  in  the 
expression  of  this  sentiment,  I will  give  my  money  to 
Athos  to  take  away  with  him,  and  will  remain  in  England 
just  long  enough  to  unmask  him.  Then,  as  I have  a quick 
eye  and  a light  foot,  I will  seize  the  first  hostile  sign  ; I 
will  decamp,  or  conceal  myself  at  the  residence  of  my 
Lord  Buckingham,  who  seems  a good  sort  of  devil  at 
bottom,  and  to  whom,  in  return  for  his  hospitality,  I will 
then  relate  all  that  history  of  the  diamonds,  which  can 
now  compromise  nobody  but  an  old  queen,  who  need  not 
be  ashamed,  after  being  the  wife  of  a poor  creature  like 
Mazarin,  of  having  formerly  been  the  mistress  of  a hand- 
some nobleman  like  Buckingham.  Mordioux ! that  is 
the  thing,  and  this  Monk  shall  not  get  the  better  of  me. 
Eh  ! and  besides,  I have  an  idea  ! ” 

We  know  that,  in  general,  D’Artagnan  was  not  want- 
ing in  ideas;  and  during  his  monologue  he  had  but- 
toned his  vest  up  to  the  chin,  and  nothing  excited  his 
imagination  like  this  preparation  for  a combat  of  any 
kind,  called  deduction  by  the  Romans.  He  was  quite 
heated  when  he  reached  the  mansion  of  the  Duke  of 
Albemarle.  He  was  introduced  to  the  viceroy  with  a 
promptitude  which  proved  that  he  was  considered  as  one 
of  the  household.  Monk  was  in  his  library. 

“My  Lord,”  said  D’Artagnan,  with  that  expression 
of  frankness  which  the  Gascon  knew  so  well  how  to 
assume,  — “my  Lord,  I have  come  to  ask  your  Grace’s 
advice.” 

Monk,  as  closely  buttoned  up  morally,  as  his  antago- 
nist was  physically,  replied : “ Ask,  my  friend  ; ” and  his 


358 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


countenance  presented  an  expression  not  less  open  than 
that  of  D’Artagnan. 

“ My  Lord,  in  the  first  place,  promise  me  secrecy  and 
indulgence.” 

“ I promise  you  all  you  wish.  What  is  the  matter 
Speak  ! ” 

“ It  is,  my  Lord,  that  I am  not  quite  pleased  with  the 
king.” 

“ Indeed  ! And  on  what  account,  my  dear  lieutenant  1 ” 

“ Because  his  Majesty  gives  way  sometimes  to  pleasan- 
tries very  compromising  to  his  servants  ; and  pleasantry, 
my  Lord,  is  a weapon  that  seriously  wounds  men  of  the 
sword  like  us.” 

Monk  did  all  in  his  power  not  to  betray  his  thought, 
but  D’Artagnan  watched  him  with  too  close  an  attention 
not  to  detect  an  almost  imperceptible  redness  upon  his 
face.  “ Well,  now,  for  my  part,”  said  he,  with  the  most 
natural  air  possible,  “ I am  not  an  enemy  to  pleasantry, 
my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan  ; my  soldiers  will  tell  you,  even, 
that  many  times  in  camp  I listened,  very  indifferently 
and  with  a certain  pleasure,  to  the  satirical  songs  which 
the  army  of  Lambert  passed  into  mine,  and  which  cer- 
tainly would  have  made  the  ears  of  a general  more  sus- 
ceptible than  I am,  tingle.” 

“ Oh,  my  Lord,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ I know  you  are 
a complete  man  ; I know  you  have  been,  for  a long  time, 
placed  above  human  miseries  ; but  there  are  pleasantries 
and  pleasantries,  and  there  are  those  of  a certain  kind, 
which,  as  to  myself,  have  the  power  of  irritating  me  be- 
yond expression.” 

“ May  I inquire  what  kind,  my  friend  1 ” 

“ Such  as  are  directed  against  my  friends,  or  against 
people  I respect,  my  Lord.” 

Monk  made  a slight  movement,  but  this  D’Artagnan 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  DREW  A COUNTRY-SEAT.  359 


perceived.  “ And  how,”  asked  Monk,  “ can  the  stroke  of 
a pin  which  scratches  another  tickle  your  skin  1 Answer 
me  that.” 

“ My  Lord,  I can  explain  it  to  you  in  one  single  sen- 
tence ; it  concerns  you.” 

Monk  advanced  a single  step  towards  D’Artagnan. 
“ Concerns  me  ? ” said  he. 

“ Yes,  and  this  is  what  I cannot  explain  ; but  that 
arises,  perhaps,  from  my  w7ant  of  knowledge  of  his  char- 
acter. How  can  the  king  have  the  heart  to  joke  about  a 
man  who  has  rendered  him  so  many  and  such  great  ser- 
vices ? How  can  one  understand  that  he  should  amuse 
himself  in  setting  by  the  ears  a lion  like  you  with  a gnat 
like  me  1 ” 

“ I do  not  see  it  so  at  all,”  said  Monk. 

“ But  so  it  is.  The  king,  who  owed  me  a reward,  might 
have  rewarded  me  as  a soldier,  without  contriving  that 
history  of  the  ransom,  which  affects  you,  my  Lord.” 

“ No,”  said  Monk,  laughing,  “ it  does  not  affect  me  in 
any  way,  I can  assure  you.” 

“ Not  as  regards  me,  I can  understand  ; you  know  me, 
my  Lord,  — I am  so  discreet  that  the  grave  would  appear 
a babbler  compared  to  me ; but  — do  you  understand, 
my  Lord  h ” 

“ No,”  replied  Monk,  with  persistent  obstinacy. 

“ If  another  knew  the  secret  which  I know  — ” 

“ What  secret  ? ” 

“ Eh  ! my  Lord,  — why,  that  unfortunate  secret  of 
Newcastle.” 

“ Oh  ! the  million  of  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  'l  ” 

“ No,  my  Lord,  no  ; the  enterprise  made  upon  your 
Grace's  person.” 

“ It  was  well  played,  Chevalier ; that  is  all,  and  no  more 
is  to  be  said  about  it.  You  are  a soldier,  both  brave  and 


360 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


cunning,  which  proves  that  you  unite  the  qualities  of 
Fabius  and  Hannibal.  You  employed  your  means,  force 
and  cunning  ; there  is  nothing  to  be  said  against  that.  I 
ought  to  have  been  more  guarded.” 

“ Ah,  yes,  I know,  my  Lord,  and  I expected  nothing 
less  from  your  partiality  ; so  that  if  it  were  only  the  ab- 
duction in  itself,  mordioux!  that  would  be  nothing;  but 
there  are  — ” 

“ What  ? ” 

“The  circumstances  of  that  abduction.” 

“ What  circumstances  ? ” 

“Oh,  you  know  very  well  what  1 mean,  my  Lord.” 

“ No  ; curse  me,  if  I do.” 

“ There  is  — in  truth  it  is  difficult  to  speak  it.” 

“ There  is  — 1” 

“ Well,  there  is  that  devil  of  a box  ! ” 

Monk  colored  visibly.  “ Well,  I have  forgotten  it.” 

“ Deal  box,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  “ with  holes  for 
the  nose  and  mouth.  In  truth,  my  Lord,  all  the  rest  was 
well ; but  the  box,  the  box  ! — decidedly  that  was  a coarse 
joke.”  Monk  fidgeted  about  in  his  chair.  “ And  never- 
theless, since  I have  done  that,”  resumed  D’Artagnan,  — 
“I,  a soldier  of  fortune,  — the  matter  is  quite  simple,  be- 
cause, by  the  side  of  that  action  (a  little  inconsiderate,  I 
admit)  which  I committed,  but  which  the  gravity  of  the 
case  may  excuse,  I possess  circumspection  and  reserve.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Monk,  “ believe  me,  I know  you  well, 
M.  d’Artagnan,  and  I appreciate  you.” 

D’Artagnan  never  took  his  eyes  off  Monk ; studying  all 
which  passed  in  the  mind  of  the  general  while  he  was 
speaking.  “ But  there  is  no  question  about  me,”  he 
resumed. 

“Well,  then,  who  is  in  question?  ” said  Monk,  who  be- 
gan to  grow  a little  impatient. 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  DREW  A COUNTRY-SEAT.  361 


“ The  king,  who  will  never  restrain  his  tongue.” 

“ Well,  and  suppose  he  should  say  all  he  knows  1 ” 
said  Monk,  with  a degree  of  hesitation. 

“ My  Lord,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  “ do  not  dissemble,  I 
implore  you,  with  a man  who  speaks  so  frankly  as  I do. 
You  have  a right  to  feel  your  susceptibility  excited,  how- 
ever magnanimous  you  may  be.  What  the  devil ! it  is 
not  the  place  for  a man  of  dignity  like  you,  a man  who 
plays  with  crowns  and  sceptres  as  a Bohemian  plays  with 
his  balls,  — it  is  not  the  place  for  a serious  man,  I said,  to 
be  shut  up  in  a box  like  a curious  object  of  natural  history  ; 
for  you  must  understand  it  would  make  all  your  enemies 
ready  to  burst  with  laughter,  — and  you  are  so  great,  so 
noble,  so  generous,  that  you  must  have  many  enemies. 
This  secret  is  enough  to  set  half  the  human  race  laugh- 
ing, if  you  should  be  pictured  in  that  box.  It  is  not 
decent  to  have  the  second  personage  in  the  kingdom 
laughed  at.” 

Monk  was  quite  out  of  countenance  at  the  idea  of  see- 
ing pictures  of  himself  in  his  box.  Kidicule,  as  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  shrewdly  foreseen,  had  an  effect  upon  him 
which  neither  the  chances  of  war,  the  aspirations  of  am- 
bition, nor  the  fear  of  death  could  have. 

“ Good  ! ” thought  the  Gascon,  “ he  is  frightened : I 
am  safe.” 

“ Oh,  as  to  the  king,”  said  Monk,  “ fear  nothing,  my 
dear  M.  d’Artagnan  ; the  king  will  not  play  any  jokes 
with  Monk,  I assure  you.” 

The  flash  of  his  eye  was  intercepted  in  its  passage  by 
D’Artagnan.  Monk  lowered  his  tone  immediately  : “ The 
king,”  continued  he,  “ is  of  too  noble  a nature  ; the  king’s 
heart  is  too  high  to  allow  him  to  wish  ill  to  those  who  do 
him  good.” 

“ Oh,  certainly  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan.  “ I am  entirely 


362 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


of  your  Grace’s  opinion  with  regard  to  his  heart,  but  not 
as  to  his  head,  — it  is  good,  but  it  is  trifling.” 

“ The  king  will  not  trifle  with  Monk,  be  assured.” 

“ Then  you  are  quite  at  ease,  my  Lord  ? ” 

“ On  that  side,  at  least  ; yes,  perfectly.” 

“ Oh,  I understand  you  ; you  are  at  ease  so  far  as  the 
king  is  concerned  l ” 

“ I have  told  you  I was.” 

“ But  you  are  not  so  much  so  on  my  account  ? ” 

“ I thought  I had  told  you  that  I had  faith  in  your 
loyalty  and  discretion.” 

u Without  doubt,  without  doubt ; but  you  must  remem- 
ber one  thing  — ” 

“ What  is  that  1 ” 

“ That  I was  not  alone,  that  I had  companions  ; and 
what  companions ! ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I know  them.” 

u And,  unfortunately,  my  Lord,  they  know  you  too.” 

“ Well  1 ” 

“Well;  they  are  yonder,  at  Boulogne,  waiting  forme.” 
“ And  }rou  fear  — ” 

" Yes,  I fear  that  in  my  absence  — Pccrbleu  ! if  I were 
near  them,  I could  answer  for  their  silence.” 

“ Was  I not  right  in  saying  that  the  danger,  if  there 
was  any  danger,  would  not  come  from  his  Majesty,  how- 
ever disposed  he  may  be  to  joke,  but  from  your  compan- 
ions, as  you  say  — To  be  laughed  at  by  a king  may  be 
tolerable,  but  by  the  horse-boys  and  scamps  of  the  army  ] 
Damnation  ! ” 

" Yes,  I comprehend ! that  would  be  insupportable. 
That  is  why,  my  Lord,  I came  to  say,  — do  you  not  think 
it  would  be  better  that  I should  set  out  for  France  as 
soon  as  possible  'l  ” 

“ Certainly,  if  you  think  your  presence  — ” 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  DREW  A COUNTRY-SEAT.  363 


“ Would  impose  silence  upon  these  scoundrels  ? Oh  ! I 
am  sure  of  that,  my  Lord.” 

“ Your  presence  will  not  prevent  the  report  from  spread- 
ing, if  the  tale  has  already  transpired.” 

“ Oh,  it  has  not  transpired,  my  Lord  ; I will  guarantee 
that.  At  all  events,  be  assured  that  I am  determined 
upon  one  thing.’ * 

“ What  is  that  ] ” 

“ To  blow  out  the  brains  of  the  first  who  shall  have 
propagated  that  report,  and  of  the  first  who  has  heard  it  : 
after  which  I will  return  to  England  to  seek  an  asylum, 
and  perhaps  employment  with  your  Grace.” 

“ Oh,  come  back  ! come  back  ! ” 

“Unfortunately,  my  Lord,  I am  acquainted  with  no- 
body here  but  your  Grace;  and  if  I should  no  longer 
find  you,  or  if  you  should  have  forgotten  me  in  your 
greatness  ? ” 

“ Listen  to  me,  M.  d’Artagnan,”  replied  Monk  ; “ you 
are  a superior  gentleman,  full  of  intelligence  and  courage  ; 
you  merit  all  the  good  fortune  this  world  can  bring  you  : 
come  with  me  into  Scotland,  and,  I swear  to  you,  I will 
create  you  a destiny  which  all  may  envy.” 

“ Oh,  my  Lord,  that  is  impossible  at  present.  At 
present  I have  a sacred  duty  to  perform  ; I have  to  watch 
over  your  glory,  I have  to  prevent  a low  joker  from  tar- 
nishing in  the  eyes  of  our  contemporaries  — who  knows  ? 
in  the  eyes  of  posterity  even  — the  splendor  of  your 
name.” 

“ Of  posterity,  M.  d’Artagnan  ] ” 

“ Doubtless.  It  is  necessary,  as  regards  posterity,  that 
all  the  details  of  that  history  should  remain  a mystery  ; 
for,  admit  that  this  unfortunate  history  of  the  deal  box 
should  spread,  and  it  should  be  asserted  that  you  had 
not  re-established  the  king  loyally  and  of  your  free  will, 


364 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


but  in  consequence  of  a compromise  entered  into  at  Sche- 
veningen  between  you  two ; — it  would  be  in  vain  for  me 
to  declare  how  the  thing  came  about,  — for  me,  who  know. 
I should  not  be  believed,  and  it  would  be  said  that  I had 
received  my  part  of  the  cake  and  was  eating  it.” 

Monk  knitted  his  brow.  “ Glory,  honor,  probity,” 
said  he,  “ you  are  but  words  ! ” 

“ Mist  ! ” replied  D’Artagnan  ; “ nothing  but  mist, 
through  which  nobody  can  see  clearly.” 

“ Well,  then,  go  to  France,  my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,” 
said  Monk,  “go;  and  to  render  England  more  attractive 
and  agreeable  to  you,  accept  a remembrance  of  me.” 

“ What  now  1 ” thought  D’Artagnan. 

“ I have  on  the  banks  of  the  Clyde,”  continued  Monk, 
“ a little  house  beneath  trees,  — a cottage,  as  it  is  called 
here.  To  this  house  are  attached  a hundred  acres  of 
land.  Accept  it.” 

“ Oh,  my  Lord  ! — ” 

“ Dame  ! you  will  be  there  in  your  own  home,  and 
that  will  be  the  place  of  refuge  you  were  talking  of  just 
now.” 

“ For  me  to  be  obliged  to  your  Lordship  to  such  an 
extent ! Keally,  your  Grace,  I am  ashamed.” 

“ Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  Monsieur,”  replied  Monk,  with 
an  arch  smile ; “ it  is  I who  shall  be  obliged  to  you, 
and,”  pressing  the  hand  of  the  musketeer,  “ I will  go  and 
draw  up  the  deed  of  gift ; ” and  he  left  the  room. 

D’Artagnan  looked  at  him  as  he  went  out,  with  some- 
thing of  a pensive  and  even  an  agitated  air. 

“ After  all,”  said  he,  “ he  is  a brave  man.  It  is  a sad' 
reflection  that  it  is  only  from  fear  of  me,  and  not  affection, 
that  he  acts  thus.  Well,  I will  endeavor  that  affection 
may  follow.”  Then,  after  an  instant’s  deeper  reflection,  — 
“ Bah  ! ” said  he,  “ to  what  purpose  1 He  is  an  English- 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  drew  A COUNTRY-SEAT.  365 


man ; ” and  he  in  his  turn  went  out,  a little  confused 
with  the  combat.  “ So,”  said  he,  “ I am  a land-owner  ! 
But  how  the  devil  am  I to  share  the  cottage  with  Plan- 
chet  ? — unless  I give  him  the  land  and  I take  the  chateau, 
or  he  takes  the  chateau  and  I — Nonsense  ! M.  Monk 
will  never  allow  me  to  share  with  a grocer  a house  he  has 
inhabited.  He  is  too  proud  for  that.  Besides,  why 
should  I say  anything  about  it  to  him  ? It  was  not  with 
the  money  of  the  company  that  I acquired  that  property, 
it  was  with  my  mother- wit  alone  ; it  is  all  mine,  then. 
So  now  I will  go  and  find  Athos ; ” and  he  directed  his 
steps  towards  the  dwelling  of  the  Comte  de  la  Fere. 


366 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  REGULATED  THE  “ PASSIVE  ” OF  THE 
COMPANY  BEFORE  HE  ESTABLISHED  ITS  (( ACTIVE.” 

“ Decidedly,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ I am  in  good 
vein.  That  star  which  shines  once  in  the  life  of  every 
man,  which  shone  for  Job  and  Irus,  the  most  unfortunate 
of  the  Jews  and  the  poorest  of  the  Greeks,  has  come  at  last 
to  shine  on  me.  I will  commit  no  folly,  I will  take  ad- 
vantage of  it ; it  comes  quite  late  enough  to  find  me 
reasonable.” 

He  supped  that  evening,  in  very  good  humor,  with  his 
friend  Athos.  He  said  nothing  to  him  about  the  expected 
donation  ; but  he  could  not  forbear  questioning  his  friend, 
while  he  was  eating,  about  country  produce,  sowing  and 
planting.  Athos  replied  genially,  as  he  always  did.  His 
idea  was  that  D’Artagnan  wished  to  become  a proprietor ; 
only  he  could  not  help  regretting,  more  than  once,  the 
absence  of  the  lively  humor  and  amusing  sallies  of  the 
cheerful  companion  of  former  days.  In  fact,  D’Artagnan 
was  so  absorbed,  that,  with  his  knife,  he  took  advantage 
of  the  grease  left  at  the  bottom  of  his  plate,  to  trace 
ciphers  and  make  additions  of  surprising  rotundity. 

The  order,  or  rather  license,  for  their  embarkation  ar- 
rived at  Athos’  lodgings  that  evening.  At  the  same  time 
this  paper  was  remitted  to  the  count,  another  messenger 
brought  to  D’Artagnan  a little  bundle  of  parchments, 
adorned  with  all  the  seals  used  in  embellishing  deeds  of 
real  estate  in  England.  Athos  surprised  him  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  these  different  deeds  which  effected  the 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  regulated  the  company.  367 


transfer  of  property.  The  prudent  Monk  — others  would 
say  the  generous  Monk  — had  commuted  the  donation 
into  a sale,  and  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  a sum  of  fif- 
teen thousand  livres  as  the  price  of  the  property  ceded. 
The  messenger  being  gone,  D’Artagnan  still  continued 
reading.  Athos  watched  him  with  a smile.  DArtagnan, 
surprising  one  of  those  smiles  over  his  shoulder,  put  the 
parchments  into  their  wrapper. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,”  said  Athos. 

“Oh,  you  are  not  indiscreet,  my  friend,”  replied  the 
lieutenant ; “ I will  tell  you  — ” 

u No,  don’t  tell  me  anything,  I beg  you  ; orders  are 
things  so  sacred,  that  to  one’s  brother,  one’s  father  the 
person  charged  with  such  orders  should  never  open  his 
mouth.  Thus  I,  who  speak  to  you,  and  love  you  more 
tenderly  than  brother,  father,  or  all  the  world  — ” 

“ Except  your  Raoul  ? ” 

“ I shall  love  Raoul  still  better  when  he  shall  be  a man, 
and  I shall  have  seen  him  develop  himself  in  all  the 
phases  of  his  character  and  his  actions,  — as  I have  seen 
you,  my  friend.” 

“You  said,  then,  that  you  had  an  order  likewise,  and 
that  you  would  not  communicate  it  to  me.” 

“ Yes,  my  dear  D’Artagnan.” 

The  Gascon  sighed.  “There  was  a time,”  said  he, 
“ when  you  would  have  placed  that  order  open  upon  the 
table,  saying,  ‘ D’Artagnan,  read  this  scrawl  to  Porthos, 
Aramis,  and  me.’  ” 

“ That  is  true.  Oh,  that  was  the  time  of  youth,  confi- 
dence, the  generous  season  when  the  blood  commands, 
when  it  is  warmed  by  feeling ! ” 

“ Well,  Athos,  will  you  allow  me  to  tell  you  ? ” 

“ Speak,  my  friend  ! ” 

“ That  delightful  time,  that  generous  season,  that 


368 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


domination  of  the  heated  blood,  were  all  very  fine  things, 
no  doubt ; but  I do  not  regret  them  at  all.  It  is  absolutely 
like  the  period  of  studies.  I have  constantly  met  with 
fools  who  would  boast  of  the  days  of  pensums , ferules, 
and  crusts  of  dry  bread.  It  is  singular,  but  I never  loved 
all  that : for  my  part,  however  active  and  sober  I might 
be  (you  knew  if  I was  so,  Athos),  so  simple  as  I might 
appear  in  my  clothes,  I would  not  the  less  have  preferred 
the  embroideries  of  Porthos  to  my  little  porous  cassock, 
which  admitted  the  wind  in  winter  and  the  sun  in  sum- 
mer. Do  you  know,  my  friend,  I shall  always  mistrust 
him  who  pretends  to  prefer  evil  to  good.  Now,  in  times 
past,  all  was  evil  with  me,  — the  times  past  in  which  every 
month  found  a new  hole  in  my  cassock  and  in  my  skin,  a 
gold  crown  less  in  my  poor  purse  ; of  that  execrable  time 
of  small  beer  and  see-saw,  I regret  absolutely  nothing, 
nothing,  nothing  but  our  friendship ; for  within  me  I 
have  a heart,  and  it  is  a miracle  that  heart  has  not  been 
dried  up  by  the  wind  of  poverty  which  passed  through 
the  holes  of  my  cloak,  or  pierced  by  the  swords  of  all 
shapes  which  passed  through  the  holes  in  my  poor  flesh.” 

“ Do  not  regret  our  friendship,”  said  Athos  ; “ that  will 
only  die  with  ourselves.  Friendship  is  composed,  above 
all  things,  of  remembrances  and  habits ; and  if  you  have 
just  now  made  a little  satire  upon  mine,  because  I hesi- 
tate to  tell  you  the  nature  of  my  mission  into  France  — ” 

“ Who  ] 1 1 Oh,  heavens  ! if  you  knew,  my  dear 

friend,  how  indifferent  all  the  missions  of  the  wrorld  will 
henceforth  become  to  me ! ” and  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  parchment  in  his  vast  pocket. 

Athos  rose  from  the  table  and  called  the  host,  in  order 
to  pay  the  reckoning. 

“ Since  I have  known  you,  my  friend,”  said  D’Artagnan, 

“ I have  never  discharged  the  reckoning.  Porthos  often 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  REGULATED  THE  COMPANY.  369 


did,  Aramis  sometimes,  and  you  — you  almost  always 
drew  out  your  purse  with  the  dessert.  I am  now  rich, 
and  should  like  to  try  if  it  is  heroic  to  pay.” 

“ Do  so,”  said  Athos,  returning  his  purse  to  his  pocket. 

The  two  friends  then  directed  their  steps  towards 
the  port,  not,  however,  without  D’Artagnan’s  frequently 
turning  round  to  watch  the  transport  of  his  precious 
crowns.  Night  had  just  spread  her  thick  veil  over  the 
yellow  waters  of  the  Thames ; they  heard  those  noises  of 
casks  and  pulleys,  the  precursors  of  getting  under  sail 
which  had  so  many  times  made  the  hearts  of  the  muske- 
teers beat  when  the  dangers  of  the  sea  were  the  least  of 
those  they  were  going  to  face.  This  time  they  were  to 
embark  on  board  a large  vessel  which  awaited  them  at 
Gravesend ; and  Charles  II.,  always  delicate  in  small 
matters,  had  sent  one  of  his  yachts,  with  twelve  men  of 
his  Scotch  guard,  to  do  honor  to  the  ambassador  he  was 
deputing  to  France.  At  midnight  the  yacht  had  depos- 
ited its  passengers  on  board  the  vessel,  and  at  eight 
o’clock  in  the  morning  the  vessel  landed  the  ambassador 
and  his  friend  before  the  pier  at  Boulogne. 

While  the  count,  with  Grimaud,  was  busy  in  procuring 
horses  to  go  straight  to  Paris,  D’Artagnan  hastened  to  the 
hostelry  where,  according  to  his  orders,  his  little  army 
was  to  wait  for  him.  These  gentlemen  were  at  breakfast 
upon  oysters,  fish,  and  aromatized  brandy,  when  D’Ar- 
tagnan  appeared.  They  were  all  very  gay,  but  not  one 
of  them  had  yet  exceeded  the  bounds  of  reason.  A hurrah 
of  joy  welcomed  the  general. 

‘‘Here  I am,”  said  D’Artagnan;  “the  campaign  is 
ended.  I have  come  to  bring  each  his  supplement  of 
pay,  as  agreed  upon.”  Their  eyes  sparkled.  “ I will  lay 
a wager  there  are  not,  already,  a hundred  livres  remaining 
in  the  purse  of  the  richest  among  you.” 
vol.  i.  — 24 


370 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ That  is  true  ! ” cried  they  in  chorus. 

“ Gentlemen,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ then  this  is  the  last 
order.  The  treaty  of  commerce  has  been  concluded, 
thanks  to  our  exploit  which  made  us  masters  of  the  most 
skilful  financier  of  England  ; for  now  I am  at  liberty  to 
confess  to  you  that  the  man  we  had  to  carry  off  was  the 
treasurer  of  General  Monk.” 

This  word  “ treasurer  ” produced  a certain  effect  in  his 
army.  D’Artagnan  observed  that  the  eyes  of  Menneville 
alone  did  not  evince  perfect  faith. 

“ This  treasurer/’  continued  D’Artagnan,  “ I have  con- 
veyed to  a neutral  territory,  Holland  ; I have  forced  him 
to  sign  the  treaty ; I have  even  reconducted  him  to  New- 
castle ; and  as  he  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied  with  our 
proceedings  towards  him,  — the  deal  box  being  always 
carried  without  jolting,  and  being  lined  softly,  — I asked 
for  a gratification  for  you.  Here  it  is.”  He  threw  a 
respectable-looking  purse  upon  the  cloth  ; and  all,  invol- 
untarily, stretched  out  their  hands.  “ One  moment,  my 
lambs,”  said  D’Artagnan;  ‘‘if  there  are  benefits,  there 
are  also  charges.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” murmured  they. 

“ We  are  about  to  find  ourselves,  my  friends,  in  a posi- 
tion that  would  not  be  tenable  for  people  without  brains.  I 
speak  plainly  ; we  are  between  the  gallows  and  the  Bastille.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  the  chorus. 

“ That  is  easy  to  be  understood.  It  was  necessary  to 
explain  to  General  Monk  the  disappearance  of  his  treas- 
urer. I waited  for  that  purpose,  till  the  very  unhoped- 
for moment  of  the  restoration  of  King  Charles  II.,  who  is 
one  of  my  friends.” 

The  army  exchanged  a glance  of  satisfaction  in  reply 
to  the  sufficiently  proud  look  of  D’Artagnan.  “ The  king 
being  restored,  I restored  Monk  his  man  of  business,  — a 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  REGULATED  THE  COMPANY.  371 


little  plucked,  it  is  true,  — but,  in  short,  I restored  him. 
Now,  General  Monk,  when  he  pardoned  me,  — for  he  has 
pardoned  me,  — could  not  help  repeating  these  words  to 
me,  which  I charge  every  one  of  you  to  engrave  deeply 
there,  between  the  eyes,  under  the  vault  of  the  cranium  : 
4 Monsieur,  the  joke  has  been  a good  one,  but  I don’t 
naturally  like  jokes ; if  ever  a word  of  what  you  have 
done 9 (you  understand  me,  M.  Menneville)  ‘ escapes  from 
your  lips,  or  the  lips  of  your  companions,  I have,  in  my 
government  of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  seven  hundred  and 
forty-one  wooden  gibbets,  of  strong  oak,  clamped  with 
iron,  and  newly  greased  every  week.  I will  make  a pres- 
ent of  one  of  these  gibbets  to  each  of  you ; and  observe 
well,  M.  d’Artagnan,’  added  he  (remark  it  also,  M.  Menne- 
ville), ‘ I shall  still  have  seven  hundred  and  thirty  left  for 
my  private  pleasures.  And  still  further  — ’ ” 

“ Ah  ! ah  ! ” said  the  auxiliaries,  “ is  there  more  still  ? ” 

“ One  trouble  more.  ‘ M.  d’Artagnan,  I send  to  the 
King  of  France  the  treaty  in  question,  with  a request 
that  he  will  cast  into  the  Bastille  provisionally,  and  then 
send  to  me,  all  who  have  taken  part  in  this  expedition ; 
and  that  is  a prayer  with  which  the  king  will  certainly 
comply.’  ” 

A cry  of  terror  broke  from  all  corners  of  the  table. 

‘ ‘There!  there!”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ this  brave  M. 
Monk  has  forgotten  one  thing,  and  that  is  that  he  does 
not  know  the  name  of  any  one  of  you ; I alone  know  you, 
and  it  is  not  I,  you  may  well  believe,  who  will  betray 
you.  Why  should  1 1 As  for  you,  I cannot  suppose  you 
will  be  silly  enough  to  denounce  yourselves  ; for  then  the 
king,  to  spare  himself  the  expenses  of  feeding  and  lodg- 
ing you,  will  send  you  off  to  Scotland,  where  the  seven 
hundred  and  forty-one  gibbets  are  to  be  found.  That 
is  all,  Messieurs;  I have  not  another  word  to  add  to 


372 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


what  I have  had  the  honor  to  tell  you.  I am  sure  you 
have  understood  me  perfectly  well,  have  you  not,  M. 
Menneville?  ” 

“ Perfectly,”  replied  the  latter. 

“ Now  the  crowns!”  said  D’Artagnan.  “Shut  the 
doors,”  he  cried  ; and  opened  the  bag  upon  the  table,  from 
which  rolled  several  fine  gold  crowns.  Every  one  made 
a movement  towards  the  floor. 

“ Gently  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  <e  I insist  upon  it  nobody 
stoops,  and  then  I shall  not  be  out  in  my  reckoning.” 
He  found  it  all  right ; gave  fifty  of  those  splendid  crowns 
to  each  man,  and  received  as  many  benedictions  as  he 
bestowed  pieces.  “Now,”  said  he,  “if  it  were  possible 
for  you  to  reform  a little,  if  you  could  become  good  and 
honest  citizens  — ” 

“That  is  rather  difficult,”  said  one  of  the  troop. 

“What  then,  Captain'?”  said  another. 

“ Because  I might  be  able  to  find  you  again ; and,  who 
knows?  refreshed  from  time  to  time  by  some  windfall  — ” 
He  made  a sign  to  Menneville,  who  listened  to  all  he  said 
with  a composed  air.  “Menneville,”  said  he,  “come  with 
me.  Adieu,  my  brave  fellows ! I need  not  recommend 
you  to  be  discreet.” 

Menneville  followed  him,  while  the  salutations  of  the 
auxiliaries  were  mingled  with  the  sweet  sound  of  the 
money  clinking  in  their  pockets. 

“Menneville,”  said  D’Artagnan,  when  they  were  once 
in  the  street,  “ you  are  not  duped ; beware  of  being  so. 
You  do  not  appear  to  me  to  have  any  fear  of  the  gibbets 
of  Monk,  or  the  Bastille  of  his  Majesty  King  Louis  XIV., 
but  you  will  do  me  the  favor  of  being  afraid  of  me. 
Then  listen  : at  the  smallest  word  that  shall  escape  you, 
I will  kill  you  as  I would  a fowl.  I have  absolution  from 
our  holy  Father  the  Pope  in  my  pocket.” 


HOW  D’ARTAGNAN  REGULATED  THE  COMPANY.  373 

“ I assure  you  I know  absolutely  nothing,  my  dear  M. 
d’Artagnan,  and  that  your  words  have  all  been  to  me  so 
many  articles  of  faith.” 

“I  was  quite  sure  you  were  an  intelligent  fellow,”  said 
the  musketeer;  “I  have  tried  you  for  twenty-five  years. 
These  fifty  gold  crowns  which  I give  you  more  than  the 
rest,  will  prove  the  estimation  I hold  you  in.  Take  them.” 

“ Thanks,  M.  d’Artagnan,”  said  Menneville. 

“ With  that  sum  you  can  really  become  an  honest 
man,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  in  the  most  serious  tone  pos- 
sible. “It  would  be  disgraceful  for  a mind  like  yours, 
and  a name  you  no  longer  dare  to  bear,  to  sink  forever 
under  the  rust  of  an  evil  life.  Become  a gallant  man, 
Menneville,  and  live  for  a year  upon  those  hundred  gold 
crowns  : it  is  a good  provision ; twice  that  of  a high 
officer.  In  a year  come  to  me,  and,  mordioux ! I will 
make  something  of  you.” 

Menneville  swore,  as  his  comrades  had  sworn,  that  he 
would  be  as  mute  as  the  tomb.  And  yet  some  one  must 
have  spoken ; and  as  to  a certainty  it  was  not  one  of 
the  nine  companions,  as  equally  certainly  it  was  not 
Menneville,  it  must  have  been  D’Artagnan,  who  in  his 
quality  of  a Gascon  had  his  tongue  very  near  his  lips. 
For  in  short  if  it  was  not  he,  who  could  it  be  % And 
how  can  it  be  explained  that  the  secret  of  the  deal  box 
pierced  with  holes  should  come  to  our  knowledge,  and  in 
so  complete  a fashion  that  we  have,  as  has  been  seen, 
related  the  history  of  it  in  all  its  most  intimate  details, 
— details  which,  besides,  throw  a light  as  new  as  unex- 
pected upon  all  that  portion  of  the  history  of  England 
which  has  been  left,  up  to  the  present  day,  completely  in 
the  shade  by  our  brother  historians  ? 


374 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI II. 

IN  WHICH  IT  IS  SEEN  THAT  THE  FRENCH  GROCER  HAD 
ALREADY  BEEN  ESTABLISHED  IN  THE  SEVENTEENTH 
CENTURY. 

His  accounts  once  settled,  and  his  recommendations  made, 
D’Artagnan  thought  of  nothing  but  regaining  Paris  as 
soon  as  possible.  Athos,  on  his  part,  was  anxious  to 
reach  home  and  to  repose  a little.  However  entire  may 
remain  the  character  and  the  man  after  the  fatigues  of  a 
voyage,  the  traveller  perceives  with  pleasure,  at  the  close 
of  the  day,  — even  though  the  day  has  been  a fine  one,  — 
that  night  is  approaching,  and  will  bring  a little  sleep 
with  it.  So,  from  Boulogne  to  Paris,  jogging  on  side  by 
side,  the  two  friends,  in  some  degree  absorbed  each  in  his 
individual  thoughts,  conversed  of  nothing  sufficiently  in- 
teresting for  us  to  present  to  our  readers.  Each  of  them, 
given  up  to  his  personal  reflections,  and  constructing  his 
future  after  his  own  fashion,  was,  above  all,  anxious  to 
abridge  the  distance  by  speed.  Athos  and  D’Artagnan 
arrived  at  the  barriers  of  Paris  on  the  evening  of  the 
fourth  day  after  leaving  Boulogne. 

“ Where  are  you  going,  my  friend  ? ” asked  Athos.  “ I 
shall  direct  my  course  straight  to  my  hotel.” 

“And  I straight  to  my  partner’s.” 

“ To  Planchet’s  ] ” 

“ Good  Lord  ! yes  ; at  the  Pilon  d’Or.” 

“Well,  but  shall  we  not  meet  again'?” 

“If  you  remain  in  Paris,  yes  ; for  I shall  stay  here.” 


THE  FRENCH  GROCER. 


375 


“No;  after  having  embraced  Raoul,  with  whom  I have 
appointed  a meeting  at  my  hotel,  I shall  set  out  immedi- 
ately for  La  Fere.” 

“Well,  adieu,  then,  dear  and  true  friend.,, 

“ Au  revoir  ! I should  rather  say,  for  why  can  you  not 
come  and  live  with  me  at  Blois?  You  are  free  ; you  are 
rich.  I will  purchase  for  you,  if  you  like,  a handsome 
property  in  the  environs  of  Chiverny  or  of  Bracieux.  On 
the  one  side  you  will  have  the  finest  woods  in  the  world, 
which  join  those  of  Chambord  ; on  the  other,  admirable 
marshes.  You  who  love  sporting,  and  who  whether  you 
admit  it  or  not  are  a poet,  my  dear  friend,  you  will  find 
pheasants,  rail,  and  teal,  without  reckoning  sunsets  and 
excursions  on  the  water,  to  make  you  fancy  yourself  Nim- 
rod and  Apollo  themselves.  Awaiting  the  acquisition, 
you  can  live  at  La  Fere,  and  we  will  go  together  to  fly 
our  hawks  among  the  vines,  as  Louis  XIII.  used  to  do. 
That  is  a quiet  amusement  for  old  fellows  like  us.” 

D’Artagnan  took  the  hands  of  Athos  in  his  own.  “ Dear 
count,”  said  he,  “ I will  say  neither  4 Yes’  nor  ‘ No.’  Let 
me  pass  in  Paris  the  time  necessary  for  the  regulation  of 
my  affairs,  and  accustom  myself,  by  degrees,  to  the  heavy 
and  glittering  idea  which  is  beating  in  my  brains  and 
dazzles  them.  I am  rich,  do  you  see  ; and  from  this  mo- 
ment till  I shall  have  acquired  the  habit  of  being  rich,  — 
I know  myself,  — I shall  be  an  unendurable  animal. 
Now,  I am  not  enough  of  a fool  to  wish  to  appear  to  have 
lost  my  wits  before  a friend  like  you,  Athos.  The  habit 
is  handsome,  the  habit  is  richly  gilded,  but  it  is  new,  and 
does  not  seem  to  fit  me.” 

Athos  smiled.  “ So  be  it,”  said  he.  “But  a propos  of 
this  habit,  dear  D’Artagnan,  will  you  allow  me  to  offer 
you  a little  advice  I ” 

“Yes,  willingly.” 


376 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ You  will  not  be  angry  h ” 

“ Proceed.” 

“ When  wealth  falls  to  any  one  late  or  all  at  once,  he 
will  most  likely  become  a miser,  to  avoid  change,  — that 
is  to  say,  will  not  spend  much  more  money  than  he  had 
done  before ; or  else  will  become  a prodigal,  and  contract 
so  many  debts  as  to  become  poor  again.” 

“ Oh ! but  what  you  say  looks  very  much  like  a soph- 
ism, my  dear  philosopher.” 

“ I do  not  think  so.  Will  you  become  a miser'?  ” 

“ No,  'par (Lieu  ! I was  one  already,  having  nothing.  Let 
us  change.” 

“Then  be  prodigal.” 

“ Still  less,  mordioux  ! Debts  terrify  me.  Creditors 
appear  to  me,  by  anticipation,  those  devils  who  turn  the 
damned  upon  the  gridirons ; and  as  patience  is  not  my 
dominant  virtue,  I am  always  tempted  to  thrash  those 
devils.” 

“You  are  the  wisest  man  I know,  and  stand  in  no  need 
of  counsel  from  any  one.  Great  fools  must  they  be  who 
think  they  have  anything  to  teach  you.  But  are  we  not 
at  the  Rue  St.  Honore  ] ” 

“ Yes,  dear  Athos.” 

“ Look  yonder,  on  the  left,  that  small,  long  white  house 
is  the  hotel  at  which  I lodge.  You  may  observe  that  it 
has  but  two  stories.  I occupy  the  first ; the  other  is  let 
to  an  officer,  whose  duties  oblige  him  to  be  absent  eight 
or  nine  months  in  the  year,  — so  I am  in  that  house  as  at 
my  own  home,  without  the  expense.” 

“ Oh,  how  well  you  manage,  Athos  ! What  order  and 
what  liberality  ! They  are  what  I wish  to  unite.  But 
of  what  use  to  try  % That  comes  from  birth,  and  cannot 
be  acquired.” 

“ Flatterer  ! Well,  adieu,  dear  friend  ! By  the  way, 


THE  FRENCH  GROCER. 


377 


remember  me  to  Master  Planchet ; he  is  still  a lad  of 
spirit,  is  he  not  h ” 

“ And  of  heart  too,  Athos.  Adieu.” 

And  they  separated.  During  all  this  conversation 
D’Artagnan  had  not  for  a moment  lost  sight  of  a certain 
pack-horse,  in  whose  panniers,  under  some  hay,  were 
spread  the  money-bags  with  the  portmanteau.  Nine 
o’clock  was  striking  at  St.  Merri ; Planchet’s  lads  were 
shutting  up  his  shop.  D’Artagnan  stopped  the  postilion 
who  rode  the  pack-horse,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  des 
Lombards,  under  a pent-house,  and  calling  one  of  Plan- 
chet’s boys,  desired  him  not  only  to  take  care  of  the 
two  horses,  but  to  watch  the  postilion  ; after  which  he 
entered  the  shop  of  the  grocer,  who  had  just  finished  sup- 
per, and  who  in  his  little  private  room  wras,  with  some 
anxiety,  consulting  the  calendar,  from  which  every  even- 
ing he  scratched  out  the  day  that  was  past.  At  the 
moment  when  Planchet,  according  to  his  daily  custom, 
with  the  back  of  his  pen,  uttering  a sigh,  w7as  erasing 
another  day,  D’Artagnan  kicked  with  his  feet  at  the  door, 
and  the  blow  made  his  steel  spur  jingle. 

“ Oh,  good  Lord  ! ” cried  Planchet. 

The  worthy  grocer  could  say  no  more  ; he  perceived  his 
partner.  D’Artagnan  entered  with  a bent  back  and  a dull 
eye  ; the  Gascon  had  an  idea  with  regard  to  Planchet. 

“ Good  God  ! ” thought  the  grocer,  looking  earnestly  at 
the  traveller,  “ he  looks  very  sad.  ” The  musketeer  sat 
down. 

“ My  dear  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” said  Planchet,  with  a hor- 
rible palpitation  of  the  heart.  “ Here  you  are  ! and  your 
health  1 ” 

“ Tolerably  good,  Planchet,  tolerably  good ! ” said 
D’Artagnan,  with  a profound  sigh. 

“ You  have  not  been  wounded,  I hope  1 ” 


378 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Pugh  ! ” 

uAh!  I see,”  continued  Planchet,  more  and  more 
alarmed,  “ the  expedition  has  been  a trying  one  h ” 

“ Yes,”  said  D’Artagnan.  A shudder  ran  through  the 
whole  frame  of  Planchet.  “ T should  like  to  have  some- 
thing to  drink,”  said  the  musketeer,  raising  his  head 
piteously. 

Planchet  ran  to  the  cupboard,  and  poured  D’Artagnan 
out  some  wine  in  a large  glass.  D’Artagnan  examined 
the  bottle. 

“ What  wine  is  that  1 ” asked  he. 

“Alas!  that  which  you  prefer,  Monsieur,”  said  Plan- 
chet ; “ that  good  old  Anjou  wine,  which  was  one  day 
nearly  costing  us  all  so  dear.” 

“Ah  !”  replied  D’Artagnan,  with  a melancholy  smile, 
“ ah,  my  poor  Planchet ! ought  I still  to  drink  good 
wine  % ” 

“ Come,  my  dear  master,”  said  Planchet,  making  a 
superhuman  effort,  while  all  his  contracted  muscles,  his 
paleness,  and  his  trembling  betrayed  the  most  acute 
anguish.  “ Come ! I have  been  a soldier,  and  conse- 
quently have  some  courage ; do  not  keep  me  in  suspense, 
dear  M.  d’Artagnan : our  money  is  lost,  is  it  not  % ” 

Before  answering,  D’Artagnan  made  a pause  which 
seemed  an  age  to  the  poor  grocer.  Meanwhile  he  did 
nothing  but  turn  about  upon  his  chair. 

“ And  if  that  were  the  case,”  said  he  slowly,  moving 
his  head  up  and  down,  “ what  would  you  say,  my  dear 
friend  ? ” 

Planchet,  from  being  pale,  turned  yellow.  It  might 
have  been  thought  he  was  going  to  swallow  his  tongue, 
so  full  became  his  throat,  so  red  were  his  eyes. 

“ Twenty  thousand  livres  ! ” murmured  he.  “ Twenty 
thousand  livres,  though ! ” 


THE  FRENCH  GROCER. 


379 


D’Artagnan,  with  his  neck  elongated,  his  legs  stretched 
out,  and  his  hands  hanging  listlessly,  looked  like  a statue 
of  discouragement.  Planchet  heaved  a sigh  from  the 
deepest  cavities  of  his  breast. 

“Well,”  said  he,  “I  see  how  it  is.  Let  us  be  men! 
It  is  all  over,  is  it  not  ] The  principal  thing  is,  Mon- 
sieur, that  you  have  saved  your  life.” 

“Doubtless,  doubtless,  life  is  something;  but  I am 
ruined  ! ” 

“ Cordieu  ! Monsieur,”  said  Planchet,  “if  it  is  so,  we 
must  not  despair  for  that.  You  shall  become  a grocer 
with  me ; I will  make  you  my  partner,  we  will  share  the 
profits ; and  if  there  should  be  no  more  profits,  well 
then  we  will  share  the  almonds,  raisins,  and  prunes, 
and  we  will  nibble  together  the  last  quarter  of  Dutch 
cheese.” 

D’Artagnan  could  hold  out  no  longer.  “ Mordioux !” 
cried  he,  with  great  emotion,  “ thou  art  a brave  fellow, 
by  my  honor,  Planchet ! You  have  not  been  playing 
comedy,  have  you]  You  have  not  seen  the  pack-horse 
with  the  money-bags  under  the  shed  yonder]  ” 

“ What  horse  ] What  money-bags  ] ” said  Planchet, 
whose  trembling  heart  began  to  suggest  that  D’Artagnan 
was  mad. 

“ Why  ! the  English  money-bags,  mordioux ! ” said 
D’Artagnan,  all  radiant,  quite  transfigured. 

“ Ah,  good  God  ! ” articulated  Planchet,  drawing  back 
before  the  dazzling  fire  of  his  eyes. 

“Imbecile!”  cried  D’Artagnan,  “you  think  me  mad! 
Mordioux ! on  the  contrary,  never  was  my  head  more 
clear,  or  my  heart  more  joyous.  To  the  money-bags, 
Planchet,  to  the  money-bags  ! ” 

“My  God  ! to  what  money-bags]” 

D’Artagnan  pushed  Planchet  towards  the  window* 


380 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Under  the  pent-house,  yonder,  don’t  you  see  a 
horse  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

'‘Don’t  you  see  how  his  back  is  laden  1 ” 

“ Yes,  yes  ! ” 

“ Don’t  you  see  your  lad  chatting  with  the  postilion  1 

“ Yes,  yes,  yes  ! ” 

“ Well,  you  know  the  name  of  that  lad,  because  he  is 
your  own.  Call  him.” 

“Abdon!  Abdon ! ” vociferated  Planchet  from  the 
window. 

“ Bring  the  horse  ! ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“ Bring  the  horse  ! ” screamed  Planchet. 

“ Now  give  ten  livres  to  the  postilion,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
in  the  tone  he  would  have  employed  in  commanding  a 
manoeuvre;  “two  lads  to  bring  up  the  first  two  sacks, 
two  to  bring  up  the  last  two,  — and  move,  mordioux  ! be 
alive  ! ” 

Planchet  precipitated  himself  down  the  stairs  as  if  the 
devil  were  at  his  heels.  The  moment  after,  the  lads 
ascended  the  staircase,  bending  beneath  their  burden. 
D’Artagnan  sent  them  off  to  their  garrets,  carefully  closed 
the  door,  and  addressing  Planchet,  who,  in  his  turn,  looked 
a little  wild,  — 

“ Now  we  are  by  ourselves,”  said  he ; and  he  spread 
upon  the  floor  a large  cover,  and  emptied  the  first  sack 
into  it.  Planchet  did  the  same  with  the  second ; then 
D’Artagnan,  all  in  a tremble,  let  out  the  precious  bowels 
of  the  third  with  a knife.  When  Planchet  heard  the 
intoxicating  sound  of  the  silver  and  gold ; when  he  saw 
bubbling  out  of  the  bags  the  shining  crowns,  which  glit- 
tered like  fish  from  the  sweep-net ; when  he  felt  himself 
plunging  his  hands  up  to  the  elbow  in  that  still  rising 
tide  of  yellow  and  silver  pieces,  — a giddiness  seized  him. 


THE  FRENCH  GROCER. 


381 


and  he  sank,  like  a man  who  is  thunderstruck,  heavily 
down  upon  the  enormous  heap,  which  his  weight  caused 
to  roll  away  in  all  directions.  Planchet,  suffocated  with  joy, 
had  lost  his  senses.  D’Artagnan  threw  a glass  of  white 
wine  in  his  face,  which  immediately  recalled  him  to  life. 

“ Ah,  good  heavens ! good  heavens  ! good  heavens  ! 
said  Planchet,  wiping  his  mustache  and  beard. 

At  that  time,  as  they  do  now,  grocers  wore  the  cavalier 
mustache  and  the  lansquenet  beard ; but  silver  baths, 
already  become  rare  in  those  days,  have  become  almost: 
unknown  now. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ there  are  a hundred 
thousand  livres  for  you,  partner.  Draw  your  share,  if 
you  please ; and  I will  draw  mine.” 

“ Oh,  the  lovely  sum  ! M.  d’Artagnan,  the  lovely 
sum  ! ” 

“I  confess  that  half  an  hour  ago  I regretted  that  I 
had  to  give  you  so  much ; but  I now  no  longer  regret  it. 
Thou  art  a brave  grocer,  Planchet.  There,  let  us  close 
our  accounts ; for,  as  they  say,  short  reckonings  make 
long  friends.” 

“ Oh ! rather,  in  the  first  place,  tell  me  the  whole 
history,”  said  Planchet ; “ that  must  be  better  than  the 
money.” 

“ My  faith  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  stroking  his  mustache, 
“ I can’t  say  no ; and  if  ever  the  historian  turns  to  me 
for  information,  he  will  be  able  to  say  he  has  not  dipped 
his  bucket  into  a dry  spring.  Listen,  then,  Planchet,  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it.” 

“And  I will  build  piles  of  crowns,”  said  Planchet. 
“Begin,  my  dear  master.” 

“Well,  this  is  it,”  said  DArtagnan,  drawing  breath. 

“ And  that  is  it,”  said  Planchet,  picking  up  his  first 
handful  of  crowns. 


382 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

mazarin’s  gaming-party. 

In  a large  chamber  of  the  Palais-Royal,  covered  with  a 
dark-colored  velvet,  which  threw  into  strong  relief  the 
gilded  frames  of  a great  number  of  magnificent  pictures, 
on  the  evening  of  the  arrival  of  the  two  Frenchmen,  the 
whole  court  was  assembled  before  the  alcove  of  M.  le  Car- 
dinal de  Mazarin,  who  was  giving  a party,  for  the  purposes 
of  play,  to  the  king  and  queen.  A small  screen  separated 
three  prepared  tables.  At  one  of  these  tables  the  king 
and  the  two  queens  were  seated.  Louis  XIV.,  placed  op- 
posite to  the  young  queen,  his  wife,  smiled  upon  her  wfith 
an  expression  of  real  happiness.  Anne  of  Austria  held 
the  cards  against  the  cardinal ; and  her  daughter-in-law 
assisted  her  in  her  game,  when  she  was  not  engaged  in 
smiling  at  her  husband.  As  for  the  cardinal,  who,  very 
weary,  reclined  his  attenuated  form  upon  his  bed,  his 
cards  were  held  by  the  Comtesse  de  Soissons,  and  he 
watched  them  with  an  incessant  look  of  eagerness  and 
cupidity. 

The  cardinal  had  been  painted  by  Bernouin ; but  the 
rouge,  which  glowed  only  on  his  cheeks,  threw  into 
stronger  contrast  the  sickly  pallor  of  the  rest  of  his  coun- 
tenance and  the  shining  yellow  of  his  brow.  His  eyes  alone 
acquired  a more  lively  expression  from  this  auxiliary ; 
and  upon  those  sick  man’s  eyes  were  turned,  from  time 
to  time,  the  uneasy  looks  of  the  king,  the  queens,  and 
the  courtiers.  The  fact  is,  that  the  two  eyes  of  Signor 


MAZARIN’S  GAMING-PARTY. 


383 


Mazarin  were  the  stars  more  or  less  brilliant  in  which  the 
France  of  the  seventeenth  century  read  its  destiny  every 
evening  and  every  morning.  Monseigneur  neither  won 
nor  lost ; he  was,  therefore,  neither  gay  nor  sad.  It  was 
a stagnation  in  which,  full  of  pity  for  him,  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria would  not  have  willingly  left  him  ; but  in  order  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  sick  man  by  some  brilliant 
stroke,  she  must  have  either  won  or  lost.  To  win  would 
have  been  dangerous,  because  Mazarin  would  have  changed 
his  indifference  for  an  ugly  grimace  ; to  lose  would  like- 
wise have  been  dangerous,  because  she  must  have  cheated, 
and  the  infanta,  who  watched  her  game,  would  doubtless 
have  exclaimed  against  her  partiality  for  Mazarin.  Prof- 
iting by  this  calm,  the  courtiers  were  chatting.  When 
not  in  a bad  humor,  M.  de  Mazarin  was  a very  debonair 
prince  ; and  he,  who  prevented  nobody  from  singing,  pro- 
vided they  paid,  was  not  tyrant  enough  to  prevent  people 
from  talking,  provided  they  made  up  their  minds  to  lose. 
They  were  chatting,  then.  At  the  first  table  the  king’s 
younger  brother,  Philip,  Due  d’Anjou,  was  admiring  his 
handsome  face  in  the  glass  of  a box.  His  favorite,  the 
Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  leaning  over  the  fauteuil  of  the 
prince,  was  listening,  with  secret  envy,  to  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  another  of  Philip’s  favorites,  who  was  relating  in 
choice  terms  the  various  vicissitudes  of  fortune  of  the 
royal  adventurer  Charles  II.  He  told,  as  so  many  fabu- 
lous events,  all  the  history  of  his  peregrinations  in  Scot- 
land, and  his  terrors  when  the  enemy’s  party  was  so 
closely  on  his  track ; of  nights  passed  in  trees,  and  days 
passed  in  hunger  and  combats.  By  degrees,  the  fate  of 
the  unfortunate  king  interested  his  auditors  so  greatly 
that  the  play  languished  even  at  the  royal  table  ; and  the 
young  king,  with  a pensive  look  and  downcast  eye,  fol- 
lowed, without  appearing  to  give  any  attention  to  it, 


334 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BHAGELONNE. 


the  smallest  details  of  this  Odyssey,  very  picturesquely 
related  by  the  Comte  de  Guiche. 

The  Comtesse  de  Soissons  interrupted  the  narrator. 
•'‘Confess,  Count,  you  are  inventing.* * 

“ Madame,  I am  repeating  like  a parrot  all  the  stories 
related  to  me  by  different  Englishmen.  I am  compelled 
to  my  shame  to  say  that  I am  as  textual  as  a copy.” 

“ Charles  II.  would  have  died  before  he  could  have 
endured  all  that.” 

Louis  XIV.  raised  his  intelligent  and  proud  head. 
“Madame,”  said  he  in  a grave  tone,  still  partaking  some- 
what of  the  timid  child,  “ Monsieur  the  Cardinal  will 
tell  you  that  in  my  minority  the  affairs  of  France  were 
in  jeopardy,  and  that  if  I had  been  older,  and  obliged 
to  take  sword  in  hand,  it  would  sometimes  have  been  to 
gain  the  evening  meal.,, 

“ Thanks  to  God,”  said  the  cardinal,  who  spoke  for  the 
first  time,  “your  Majesty  exaggerates,  and  your  supper 
has  always  been  ready,  with  that  of  your  servants.” 

The  king  colored. 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Philip,  inconsiderately,  from  his  place, 
and  without  ceasing  to  admire  himself,  “ I recollect  once, 
at  Milan,  the  supper  was  laid  for  nobody,  and  that  the 
king  ate  two  thirds  of  a slice  of  bread,  and  left  to  me 
the  other  third.” 

The  wliole  assembly,  seeing  Mazarin  smile,  began  to 
laugh.  Courtiers  flatter  kings  with  the  remembrance  of 
past  distresses,  as  with  the  hopes  of  future  good  fortune. 

“It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  the  crown  of  France  has 
always  remained  firm  upon  the  heads  of  its  kings,”  Anne 
of  Austria  hastened  to  say,  “ and  that  it  has  fallen 
from  that  of  the  King  of  England ; and  when,  by 
chance,  that  crown  oscillated  a little,  — for  there  are 
throne-quakes  as  well  as  earthquakes,  — every  time,  I 


MAZARIN’S  GAMING-PARTY. 


385 


say,  that  rebellion  threatened  it,  a good  victory  restored 
tranquillity.” 

“ With  a few  gems  added  to  the  crown,”  said  Mazarin. 

The  Comte  de  Guiche  was  silent ; the  king  composed 
his  countenance ; and  Mazarin  exchanged  looks  with  Anne 
of  Austria,  as  if  to  thank  her  for  her  intervention. 

“It  is  of  no  consequence,”  said  Philip,  smoothing  his 
hair.  “ My  cousin  Charles  is  not  handsome,  but  he  i? 
very  brave,  and  has  fought  like  a reiter ; and  if  he  con- 
tinues to  fight  thus,  no  doubt  he  will  finish  by  gaining  a 
battle,  like  Rocroy  — ” 

“He  has  no  soldiers,”  interrupted  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine. 

“ The  King  of  Holland,  his  ally,  will  give  him  some. 
I would  willingly  have  given  him  some  if  I had  been  King 
of  France.” 

Louis  XIV.  blushed  excessively.  Mazarin  affected  to 
be  more  attentive  to  his  game  than  ever. 

“ By  this  time,”  resumed  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  “ the 
fortune  of  this  unhappy  prince  is  decided.  If  he  has  been 
deceived  by  Monk,  he  is  ruined.  Imprisonment,  perhaps 
death,  will  finish  what  exile,  battles,  and  privations  have 
begun.” 

Mazarin’s  brow  became  clouded. 

“Is  it  certain,”  said  Louis  XIV.,  “that  his  Majesty 
Charles  II.  has  quitted  the  Hague  ? ” 

“ Quite  certain,  your  Majesty,”  replied  the  young  man  ; 
“my  father  has  received  a letter  containing  all  the  de- 
tails. It  is  even  known  that  the  king  has  landed  at 
Dover;  some  fishermen  saw  him  entering  the  port.  The 
rest  is  still  a mystery.” 

“ I should  like  to  know  the  rest,”  said  Philip,  impetu- 
ously. “You  know,  — you,  my  brother.” 

Louis  XIV.  colored  again.  That  was  the  third  time 
vol.  i.  — 25 


386 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


within  an  hour.  “ Ask  Monsieur  the  Cardinal/*  replied 
he,  in  a tone  which  made  Mazarin,  Anne  of  Austria,  and 
everybody  else  open  their  eyes. 

“ Which  means,  my  son/*  said  Anne  of  Austria,  laugh- 
ing, “ that  the  king  does  not  like  affairs  of  State  to  be 
talked  of  out  of  the  council.” 

Philip  received  the  reprimand  with  a good  grace,  and 
bowed,  first  smiling  at  his  brother,  and  then  at  his  mother. 
But  Mazarin  saw  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  that  a group 
was  about  to  be  formed  in  an  angle  of  the  room  ; that  the 
Due  d’ Anjou,  with  the  Comte  de  Guiche  and  the  Chev- 
alier de  Lorraine,  prevented  from  talking  aloud,  might 
say  in  a whisper  what  it  was  not  convenient  should 
be  said  aloud.  He  was  beginning  then  to  dart  at  them 
glances  full  of  mistrust  and  uneasiness,  inviting  Anne  of 
Austria  to  throw  perturbation  amid  the  unlawful  assem- 
bly, when  suddenly  Bernouin,  entering  under  the  tapes- 
try of  the  bedroom,  whispered  in  the  ear  of  his  master, 
“ Monseigneur,  an  envoy  from  his  Majesty  the  King  of 
England ! ” 

Mazarin  could  not  help  exhibiting  a slight  emotion, 
which  was  perceived  by  the  king.  To  avoid  being  indis- 
creet, still  less  than  not  to  appear  useless,  Louis  XIY. 
rose  immediately,  and  approaching  his  Eminence,  wished 
him  good-night.  All  the  assembly  had  risen  with  a 
great  noise  of  rolling  of  chairs  and  tables  being  pushed 
away. 

“ Let  everybody  depart  by  degrees/’  said  Mazarin  in  a 
whisper  to  Louis  XIY.,  “ and  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  me 
a few  minutes.  I am  going  to  expedite  an  affair  about 
which  I wish  to  converse  with  your  Majesty  this  very 
evening.” 

“And  the  queens'?”  asked  Louis  XIY. 

“ And  M.  le  Due  d*  Anjou,”  said  his  Eminence. 


MAZARIN’S  GAMING-PARTY. 


387 


At  the  same  time  he  turned  round  in  his  recess,  the 
curtains  of  which,  in  falling,  concealed  the  bed.  The  car- 
dinal, nevertheless,  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  conspirators. 

“M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche,”  said  he  in  a fretful  voice, 
while  putting  on,  behind  the  curtain,  his  robe  de  chambre, 
with  the  assistance  of  Bernouin. 

“I  am  here,  Monseigneur, ” said  the  young  man,  as  he 
approached. 

“ Take  my  cards ; you  are  lucky.  Win  a little  money 
for  me  of  these  gentlemen.” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

The  young  man  sat  down  at  the  table  from  which  the 
king  withdrew  to  talk  with  the  two  queens.  A serious 
game  was  begun  between  the  Count  and  several  rich 
courtiers.  In  the  mean  time  Philip  was  discussing  ques- 
tions of  dress  with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  and  they 
had  ceased  to  hear  the  rustling  of  the  cardinal’s  silk  robe 
from  behind  the  curtain.  His  Eminence  had  followed 
Bernouin  into  the  cabinet  adjoining  the  bedroom. 


388 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AN  AFFAIR  OF  STATE. 

The  cardinal,  on  passing  into  his  cabinet,  found  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere,  who  was  waiting  for  him,  engaged  in  admiring 
a very  fine  Raphael  placed  over  a sideboard  covered  with 
plate.  His  Eminence  came  in  softly,  lightly,  and  silently 
as  a shadow,  and  surprised  the  count,  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  do,  pretending  to  divine,  by  the  simple  expres- 
sion of  the  face  of  his  interlocutor,  what  would  be  the 
result  of  the  conversation.  But  this  time  Mazarin  was 
disappointed  in  his  expectation ; he  read  nothing  upon 
the  face  of  Athos,  not  even  the  respect  he  was  accustomed 
to  meet  with  on  all  faces.  Athos  was  dressed  in  black, 
with  a simple  lacing  of  silver.  He  wore  the  Holy  Ghost, 
the  Garter,  and  the  Golden  Fleece,  — three  orders  of  such 
importance  that  a king  alone,  or  else  a player,  could 
wear  them  at  once. 

Mazarin  rummaged  a long  time  in  his  somewhat  troubled 
memory  to  recall  the  name  he  ought  to  give  to  this  icy 
figure,  but  he  did  not  succeed.  “ I am  told,”  said  he,  at 
length,  “that  you  have  a message  from  England  for  me.” 

And  he  sat  down,  dismissing  Bernouin  and  Brienne, 
who  in  his  capacity  as  secretary  was  getting  his  pen 
ready. 

“From  his  Majesty  the  King  of  England;  yes,  your 
Eminence.” 

“You  speak  very  good  French,  for  an  Englishman, 
Monsieur,”  said  Mazarin,  graciously,  looking  through  his 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  STATE. 


389 


fingers  at  the  Holy  Ghost,  Garter,  and  Golden  Fleece, 
but  more  particularly  at  the  face  of  the  messenger. 

“I  am  not  an  Englishman,  but  a Frenchman,  Monsieur 
the  Cardinal,”  replied  Athos. 

“ It  is  remarkable  that  the  King  of  England  should 
choose  a Frenchman  for  his  ambassador ; it  is  an  excellent 
augury.  Your  name,  Monsieur,  if  you  please.” 

“ Comte  de  la  Fere,”  replied  Athos,  bowing  more 
slightly  than  the  ceremonial  and  pride  of  the  all-powerful 
minister  required. 

Mazarin  bent  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  say,  “I  do  not 
know  that  name.” 

Athos  did  not  alter  his  carriage. 

“ And  you  come,  Monsieur,”  continued  Mazarin,  “ to 
tell  me  — ” 

“ I come  on  the  part  of  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Great 
Britain  to  announce  to  the  King  of  France  ” — Mazarin 
frowned  — “to  announce  to  the  King  of  France,”  con- 
tinued Athos,  imperturbably,  “the  happy  restoration 
of  his  Majesty  Charles  II.  to  the  throne  of  his  an- 
cestors.” 

This  shade  did  not  escape  his  cunning  Eminence.  Ma- 
zarin was  too  much  accustomed  to  mankind,  not  to  see  in 
the  cold  and  almost  haughty  politeness  of  Athos  an  index 
of  hostility,  which  was  not  of  the  temperature  of  that  hot- 
house called  a court. 

“You  have  powers,  I suppose?”  asked  Mazarin,  in  a 
short,  querulous  tone. 

“Yes,  Monseigneur;”  and  the  word  “monseigneur” 
came  so  painfully  from  the  lips  of  Athos,  that  it  might  be 
said  it  skinned  them. 

“ In  that  case,  show  them.” 

Athos  took  a despatch  from  an  embroidered  velvet  bag 
which  he  carried  under  his  doublet.  The  cardinal  held 


390 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


out  his  hand  for  it.  “ Your  pardon,  Monseigneur,”  said 
Athos.  “ My  despatch  is  for  the  king.” 

“ Since  you  are  a Frenchman,  Monsieur,  you  ought  to 
know  what  the  position  of  a prime  minister  is  at  the  court 
of  France.” 

“ There  was  a time,”  replied  Athos,  “ when  I occupied 
myself  with  the  importance  of  prime  ministers ; but  1 
formed,  long  ago,  a resolution  to  treat  no  longer  with 
any  but  the  king.” 

u Then,  Monsieur,”  said  Mazarin,  who  began  to  be  irri- 
tated, “you  will  see  neither  the  minister  nor  the  king.” 
Mazarin  rose.  Athos  replaced  his  despatch  in  its  bag, 
bowed  gravely,  and  took  several  steps  towards  the  door. 
This  coolness  exasperated  Mazarin.  “ What  strange 
diplomatic  proceedings  are  these  ! ” cried  he.  “ Are  we 
again  in  the  times  in  which  Cromwell  sent  us  bullies  in 
the  guise  of  charges  d'affaires?  You  want  nothing,  Mon- 
sieur, but  the  steel  cap  on  your  head,  and  a Bible  at  your 
girdle.” 

“Monsieur,”  said  Athos,  dryly,  “I  have  never  had,  as 
you  have,  the  advantage  of  treating  with  M.  Cromwell  \ 
and  I have  only  seen  his  charges  d'affaires  sword  in  hand  : 
I am  therefore  ignorant  of  how  he  treated  with  prime 
ministers.  As  for  the  King  of  England,  Charles  II.,  I 
know  that  when  he  writes  to  his  Majesty  King  Louis 
XIV.,  he  does  not  write  to  his  Eminence  the  Cardinal 
Mazarin.  I see  no  diplomacy  in  that  distinction.” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Mazarin,  raising  his  attenuated  hand  and 
striking  his  head,  “ I remember  now  ! ” Athos  looked  at 
him  in  astonishment.  “Yes,  that  is  it,”  said  the  car- 
dinal, continuing  to  look  at  his  interlocutor ; “ yes,  that 
is  certainly  it.  I know  you  now,  Monsieur.  Ah  ! diavolo  ! 
I am  no  longer  astonished.” 

“ In  fact,  / was  astonished  that  with  the  excellent 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  STATE. 


391 


memory  your  Eminence  has/’  replied  Athos,  smiling, 
“you  did  not  recognize  me  before.” 

“Always  refractory  and  grumbling,  Monsieur  — Mon- 
sieur — What  do  they  call  you  ? Stop  ! — a name  of  a 
river  — Potamos  ; no  — the  name  of  an  island  — Naxos 
no,  per  Giove  ! — the  name  of  a mountain  — Athos  ! now  I 
have  it.  Delighted  to  see  you  again,  and  to  be  no  longer 
at  Rueil,  where  you  and  your  damned  companions  made 
me  pay  ransom.  Fronde  ! still  Fronde  ! accursed  Fronde  ! 
Oh,  what  a source  of  evil  ! Why,  Monsieur,  have  your 
antipathies  survived  mine?  If  any  one  had  cause  to 
complain,  I think  it  could  not  be  you,  who  got  out  of  the 
affair  not  only  in  a sound  skin,  but  with  the  cordon  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  round  your  neck.” 

“Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  replied  Athos,  “ permit  me  to 
dispense  with  considerations  of  that  kind.  I have  a mis- 
sion to  fulfil.  Will  you  assist  me  in  fulfilling  that  mission  ? ” 
“I  am  astonished,”  said  Mazarin,  quite  delighted  at 
having  regained  the  remembrance,  and  bristling  with 
malicious  points,  — “ I am  astonished,  Monsieur — Athos 
— that  a Frondeur  like  you  should  have  accepted  a mis- 
sion to  Mazarin,  as  used  to  be  said  in  the  good  old 
times — ” and  Mazarin  began  to  laugh,  in  spite  of  a 
painful  cough,  which  cut  short  his  sentences,  converting 
them  into  sobs. 

“ I have  only  accepted  the  mission  to  the  King  of 
France,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  retorted  the  count, 
though  with  less  asperity,  for  he  thought  he  had  suffi- 
ciently the  advantage  to  show  himself  moderate. 

“And  yet,  Monsieur  the  Frondeur,”  said  Mazarin, 
gayly,  “the  affair  with  which  you  charge  yourself  must, 
from  the  king  — ” 

“With  which  I am  charged,  Monseigneur.  I do  not 
run  after  affairs.” 


392 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Be  it  so.  I say  that  this  negotiation  must  pass 
through  my  hands.  Let  us  lose  no  precious  time,  then. 
Tell  me  the  conditions.” 

“ I have  had  the  honor  of  assuring  your  Eminence*  that 
the  letter  alone  of  his  Majesty  King  Charles  II.  contains 
the  revelation  of  his  wishes.” 

“ Pooh  ! you  are  ridiculous  with  your  obstinacy,  M. 
Athos.  It  is  plain  you  have  kept  company  with  the 
Puritans  yonder.  As  to  your  secret,  I know  it  better 
than  you  do ; and  you  have  done  wrongly,  perhaps,  in 
not  having  shown  some  respect  for  a very  old  and  suffer- 
ing man,  who  has  labored  much  during  his  life,  and  kept 
the  field  bravely  for  his  ideas,  as  you  have  for  yours.  — 
You  will  not  communicate  your  letter  to  me]  You  will 
say  nothing  to  me]  Wonderfully  well ! Come  with  me 
into  my  chamber ; you  shall  speak  to  the  king  — and  be- 
fore the  king.  Now,  then,  one  last  word  : who  gave  you 
the  Fleece]  I remember  you  passed  for  having  the 
Garter ; but  as  to  the  Fleece,  I did  not  know  — ” 

“ Becently,  Monseigneur,  Spain,  on  the  occasion  of  the 
marriage  of  his  Majesty  Louis  XIV.,  sent  King  Charles  II. 
a brevet  of  the  Fleece  in  blank ; Charles  II.  immediately 
transmitted  it  to  me,  filling  up  the  blank  with  my  name.” 

Mazarin  arose,  and  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Bernouin, 
returned  to  his  private  recess  at  the  moment  the  name  of 
Monsieur  the  Prince  was  being  announced.  The  Prince 
de  Conde,  the  first  prince  of  the  blood,  the  conqueror  of 
Bocroy,  Lens,  and  Nordlingen,  was,  in  fact,  entering  the 
apartments  of  Monseigneur  de  Mazarin,  followed  by  his 
gentlemen,  and  had  already  saluted  the  king,  when  the 
prime  minister  raised  his  curtain.  Athos  had  time  to 
see  Baoul  press  the  hand  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  and 
to  return  him  a smile  for  his  respectful  bow.  He  had 
time,  likewise,  to  see  the  radiant  countenance  of  the 


AN  AFFAIR  OF  STATE. 


393 


cardinal,  when  he  perceived  before  him,  upon  the  table, 
an  enormous  heap  of  gold,  which  the  Comte  de  Guiche 
had  won  in  a run  of  luck,  after  his  Eminence  had  con- 
fided his  cards  to  him.  So,  forgetting  ambassador,  em- 
bassy, and  prince,  his  first  thought  was  of  the  gold. 
“ What  ! ” cried  the  old  man,  “ all  that  — won  ? ” 

“ Some  fifty  thousand  crowns;  yes,  Monseigneur, ” re- 
plied the  Comte  de  Guiche,  rising.  “ Must  I give  up  my 
place  to  your  Eminence,  or  shall  I continue  V1 

“ Give  up  ! give  up  ! you  are  mad.  You  would  lose  all 
you  have  won.  Peste  !” 

“ Monseigneur  ! ” said  the  Prince  de  Conde,  bowing. 

“ Good-evening,  Monsieur  the  Prince,”  said  the  min- 
ister, in  a careless  tone ; “ it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  visit 
an  old  sick  friend.” 

“ A friend  ! ” murmured  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  at  wit- 
nessing with  stupor  this  monstrous  collocation  of  words, 

— “ friend,  when  the  parties  are  Conde  and  Mazarin  ! ” 

Mazarin  seemed  to  divine  the  thought  of  the  Frondeur, 

for  he  smiled  upon  him  with  triumph  ; and  immediately, 

— “ Sire,”  said  he  to  the  king,  “I  have  the  honor  of 
presenting  to  your  Majesty,  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere, 
ambassador  from  his  Britannic  Majesty.  An  affair  of 
State,  Messieurs,”  added  he,  waving  his  hand  to  all  who 
filled  the  chamber,  and  who,  the  Prince  de  Conde  at 
their  head,  all  disappeared  at  the  simple  gesture.  Baoul, 
after  a last  look  cast  at  the  count,  followed  M.  de  Conde. 
Philip  of  Anjou  and  the  queen  appeared  to  be  consulting 
about  departing. 

“A  family  affair,”  said  Mazarin,  suddenly,  detaining 
them  in  their  seats.  4 ‘This  gentleman  is  bearer  of  a 
letter,  in  which  King  Charles  II.,  completely  restored  to 
his  throne,  demands  an  alliance  between  Monsieur,  the 
brother  of  the  king,  and  Mademoiselle  Henrietta,  grand- 


394 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BHAGELONNE. 


daughter  of  Henry  IV.  Will  you  pass  your  credentials 
to  the  king,  Monsieur  the  Count  V9 

Athos  remained  for  a minute  stupefied.  How  could 
the  minister  possibly  know  the  contents  of  the  letter, 
which  had  never  been  out  of  his  keeping  for  a single 
instant'?  Nevertheless,  always  master  of  himself,  he  held 
out  the  despatch  to  the  young  king,  Louis  XIV.,  who  took 
it  with  a blush.  A solemn  silence  reigned  in  the  chamber 
of  the  cardinal.  It  was  only  troubled  by  the  dull  sound 
of  the  gold  which  Mazarin,  with  his  yellow,  dry  hand, 
piled  up  in  a box,  while  the  king  was  reading. 


THE  RECITAL. 


395 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  RECITAL. 

The  malice  of  the  cardinal  did  not  leave  much  for  the 
ambassador  to  say ; nevertheless,  the  word  “ restored  ” had 
struck  the  king,  who,  addressing  the  count,  upon  whom 
his  eyes  had  been  fixed  since  that  person’s  entrance,  — 
“ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ will  you  have  the  kindness  to 
give  us  some  details  of  English  affairs'?  You  come  from 
that  country,  you  are  a Frenchman,  and  the  orders  which 
I see  glitter  upon  your  person  announce  you  to  be  a man 
of  merit  as  well  as  a man  of  quality.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  cardinal,  turning  towards  the 
queen-mother,  “is  an  ancient  servant  of  your  Majesty’s, 
M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere.” 

Anne  of  Austria  was  as  oblivious  as  a queen  whose  life 
had  been  mingled  with  fine  and  stormy  days.  She  looked 
at  Mazarin,  whose  malign  smile  promised  her  something 
annoying ; then,  by  another  look,  she  solicited  from 
Athos  an  explanation. 

“ Monsieur,”  continued  the  cardinal,  “ was  a Treville 
musketeer,  in  the  service  of  the  late  king.  Monsieur  is 
well  acquainted  with  England,  whither  he  has  made  sev- 
eral voyages  at  various  periods  ; he  is  a subject  of  the 
highest  merit.” 

These  words  contained  allusion  to  all  the  remembran- 
ces which  Anne  of  Austria  dreaded  to  revive.  “Eng- 
land,”— that  was  her  hatred  of  Richelieu  and  her  love 


396 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


of  Buckingham;  “ a Treville  musketeer,”  — that  was  the 
whole  Odyssey  of  the  triumphs  which  had  made  the 
heart  of  the  young  woman  throb,  and  of  the  dangers 
which  had  been  so  near  overturning  the  throne  of  the 
young  queen.  These  words  had  much  power ; for  they 
rendered  mute  and  attentive  all  the  royal  personages, 
who,  with  widely  diverse  sentiments,  at  once  tried  to  re- 
construct the  mysterious  years,  which  the  young  among 
them  had  not  seen,  and  which  the  old  had  believed  to  be 
forever  effaced. 

“ Speak,  Monsieur,”  said  Louis  XI V.,  the  first  to  es- 
cape from  troubles,  suspicions,  and  remembrances. 

“ Yes,  speak,”  added  Mazarin,  to  whom  the  little  piece 
of  malice  inflicted  upon  Anne  of  Austria  had  restored 
energy  and  gayety. 

“ Sire,”  said  the  count,  “ a sort  of  miracle  has  changed 
the  whole  destiny  of  Charles  II,  What  men  till  that  time 
had  been  unable  to  do,  God  resolved  to  accomplish.” 
Mazarin  coughed,  while  tossing  about  in  his  bed. 

“ King  Charles  II.,”  continued  Athos,  “left  the  Hague 
neither  as  a fugitive  nor  as  a conqueror,  but  like  an  abso- 
lute king,  who,  after  a distant  voyage  from  his  kingdom, 
returns  amid  universal  benedictions.” 

“A  great  miracle,  indeed,”  said  Mazarin  ; “for  if  the 
news  was  true,  King  Charles  II.,  who  has  just  returned 
amid  benedictions,  went  away  amid  musket-shots.” 

The  king  remained  impassive.  Philip,  younger  and 
more  frivolous,  could  not  repress  a smile,  which  flattered 
Mazarin  as  an  applause  of  his  pleasantry. 

“ It  is  plain,”  said  the  king,  “there  is  a miracle  ; but 
God,  who  does  so  much  for  kings,  Monsieur  the  Count, 
nevertheless  employs  the  hand  of  man  to  bring  about 
the  triumph  of  His  designs.  To  what  men  does  Charles 
II.  principally  owe  his  re-establishment^” 


THE  KECITAL. 


397 


“ Why,”  interrupted  Mazarin,  without  any  regard  for 
the  self-love  of  the  king,  “ does  not  your  Majesty  know 
that  it  is  to  M.  Monk  % ” 

“ I ought  to  know  it,”  replied  Louis  XIV.,  resolutely  ; 
“ and  yet  I ask  Monsieur  the  ambassador  the  causes  of 
the  change  in  this  M.  Monk.” 

“ And  your  Majesty  touches  precisely  the  question,” 
replied  Athos ; “ for  without  the  miracle  I have  had  the 
honor  to  speak  of,  M.  Monk  would  probably  have  re- 
mained an  implacable  enemy  to  Charles  II.  God  willed 
that  a strange,  bold,  and  ingenious  idea  should  enter  into 
the  mind  of  a certain  man,  while  a devoted  and  coura- 
geous idea  took  possession  of  the  mind  of  another  man. 
The  combination  of  these  two  ideas  brought  about  such  a 
change  in  the  position  of  M.  Monk  that  from  an  inveter- 
ate enemy  he  became  a friend  to  the  deposed  king.” 

“ These  are  exactly  the  details  I asked  for,”  said  the 
king.  “Who  and  what  are  the  two  men  of  whom  you 
speak  1 ” 

“ Two  Frenchmen,  Sire.” 

“ Indeed  ! I am  glad  of  that.” 

“ And  the  two  ideas,”  said  Mazarin,  — “I  am  more 
curious  about  ideas  than  about  men,  for  my  part.” 

“ Yes,”  murmured  the  king. 

“ The  second  idea — the  devoted,  courageous  idea  — the 
less  important,  Sire  — was  to  go  and  dig  up  a million 
in  gold,  buried  by  King  Charles  I.  at  Newcastle,  and  to 
purchase  with  that  gold  the  adherence  of  Monk.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  Mazarin,  reanimated  by  the  word 
‘‘million.”  “But  Newcastle  was  at  the  time  occupied 
by  Monk.” 

“Yes,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  and  that  is  why  I ven- 
ture to  call  the  idea  courageous  as  well  as  devoted.  The 
plan  was,  — if  Monk  should  refuse  the  offers  of  the  nego- 


398 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


tiator,  — to  reinstate  King  Charles  II.  in  possession  of 
this  million,  which  was  to  be  torn,  as  it  were,  from  the 
loyalty  of  General  Monk,  if  not  from  his  loyalism.  This 
was  effected,  in  spite  of  many  difficulties  : the  general 
proved  to  be  loyal,  and  allowed  the  money  to  be  taken 
away.” 

“ It  seems  to  me,”  said  the  timid,  thoughtful  king, 
“that  Charles  II.  could  not  have  known  of  this  million 
while  he  was  in  Paris.” 

“It  seems  to  me,”  rejoined  the  cardinal,  maliciously, 
“ that  his  Majesty  the  King  of  Great  Britain  knew  per- 
fectly well  of  this  million,  but  that  he  preferred  having 
two  millions  to  having  one.” 

“ Sire,”  said  Athos,  firmly,  “ the  King  of  England 
while  in  France  was  so  poor  that  he  had  not  even  money 
to  take  the  post,  so  destitute  of  hope  that  he  fre- 
quently thought  of  dying.  He  was  so  entirely  ignorant 
of  the  existence  of  the  million  at  Newcastle,  that  but  for 
a gentleman,  — one  of  your  Majesty’s  subjects,  the 
moral  depositary  of  the  million,  and  who  revealed  the 
secret  to  King  Charles  II.,  — that  prince  would  still  be 
vegetating  in  the  most  cruel  oblivion.” 

“ Let  us  pass  on  to  the  strange,  bold,  and  ingenious 
idea,”  interrupted  Mazarin,  whose  sagacity  foresaw  a 
check.  “ What  was  that  idea  h ” 

“ This  : M.  Monk  being  the  only  obstacle  to  the  re- 
establishment of  the  fallen  king,  a Frenchman  imagined 
the  idea  of  suppressing  this  obstacle.” 

“ Oh  ! oh ! but  he  is  a scoundrel,  that  Frenchman,” 
said  Mazarin  ; “ and  the  idea  is  not  so  ingenious  as  to 
prevent  its  author  being  tied  up  by  the  neck  at  the  Place 
de  Greve,  by  decree  of  the  Parliament.” 

“ Your  Eminence  is  mistaken,”  replied  Athos,  dryly. 
“I  did  not  say  that  the  Frenchman  in  question  had  re- 


THE  RECITAL. 


399 


solved  to  assassinate  M.  Monk,  but  only  to  suppress  him. 
The  words  of  the  French  language  have  a value  which 
the  gentlemen  of  France  know  perfectly.  Besides,  this  is 
an  affair  of  war ; and  when  men  serve  kings  against  their 
enemies  they  are  not  to  be  condemned  by  a parliament,  — 
they  have  God.  This  French  gentleman,  then,  formed 
the  idea  of  gaining  possession  of  the  person  of  Monk,  and 
he  executed  his  plan.” 

The  king  became  animated  at  the  recital  of  great  ac- 
tions. The  king’s  younger  brother  struck  the  table  with 
his  hand,  exclaiming,  “Ah,  that  is  fine!  ” 

“ He  carried  off  Monk  % ” said  the  king.  “ Why,  Monk 
was  in  his  camp.” 

“ And  the  gentleman  was  alone,  Sire.” 

“ That  is  marvellous  ! ” said  Philip. 

“ Marvellous  indeed  ! ” cried  the  king. 

“Good  ! There  are  two  little  lions  unchained,”  mur- 
mured the  cardinal.  And  with  an  air  of  spite,  which 
he  did  not  dissemble,  said  aloud,  “I  am  unacquainted 
with  these  details  ; will  you  guarantee  the  authenticity 
of  them,  Monsieur'?” 

“All  the  more  easily,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,  from 
having  seen  the  events.” 

“ You  have  % ” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

The  king  had  involuntarily  drawn  close  to  the  count ; 
the  Due  d’Anjou  had  turned  sharply  round,  and  pressed 
Athos  on  the  other  side. 

“Next,  Monsieur,  next!”  cried  both  at  the  same 
time. 

“ Sire,  M.  Monk,  being  taken  by  the  Frenchman,  was 
brought  to  King  Charles  II.  at  the  Hague.  The  king 
restored  Monk  his  liberty;  and  the  grateful  general,  in 
return,  gave  Charles  II.  the  throne  of  Great  Britain, 


400 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


for  which  so  many  valiant  men  have  contended  without 
result.” 

Philip  clapped  his  hands  with  enthusiasm  ; Louis  XIY., 
more  reflective,  turned  towards  the  Comte  de  la  Fere. 

“ Is  this  true,”  said  he,  “ in  all  its  details'?” 

“ Absolutely  true,  Sire.” 

“ That  one  of  my  gentlemen  knew  the  secret  of  the 
million,  and  kept  it  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ The  name  of  that  gentleman  ? ” 

“ It  was  your  humble  servant,”  said  Athos,  simply. 

A murmur  of  admiration  made  the  heart  of  Athos 
swell  with  pleasure.  He  had  reason  to  be  proud,  at  least. 
Mazarin  himself  had  raised  his  arms  towards  heaven. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  “ I will  seek,  I will  find, 
means  to  reward  you.”  Athos  made  a movement.  “ Oh, 
not  for  your  probity,  — to  be  paid  for  that  would  humili- 
ate you  ; but  I owe  you  a reward  for  having  participated 
in  the  restoration  of  my  brother,  King  Charles  II.” 
“Certainly,”  said  Mazarin. 

“ It  is  the  triumph  of  a good  cause  which  fills  the  whole 
house  of  France  with  joy,”  said  Anne  of  Austria. 

“I  continue,”  said  Louis  XIY.  : “Is  it  also  true  that 
a single  man  penetrated  to  Monk,  in  his  camp,  and 
carried  him  off?” 

“ That  man  had  ten  auxiliaries,  taken  from  an  inferior 
rank.” 

“ Nothing  but  that?” 

“ Nothing  more.” 

“ And  you  call  him  ? ” 

“ Monsieur  d’Artagnan,  formerly  lieutenant  of  the 
Musketeers  of  your  Majesty.” 

Anne  of  Austria  colored  ; Mazarin  became  yellow  with 
shame  ; Louis  XIY.  was  deeply  thoughtful,  and  a drop  of 


THE  RECITAL. 


401 


sweat  fell  from  his  pale  brow.  “ What  men!”  mur- 
mured he ; and  involuntarily  he  darted  a glance  at  the 
minister,  which  would  have  terrified  him,  if  Mazarin  at  the 
moment  had  not  concealed  his  head  under  his  pillow. 

“Monsieur,”  said  the  young  Due  d’Anjou,  placing  his 
hand,  delicate  and  white  as  that  of  a woman,  upon  the 
arm  of  Athos,  “tell  that  brave  man,  I beg  you,  that 
Monsieur,  brother  of  the  king,  will  to-morrow  drink  his 
health  before  a hundred  of  the  best  gentlemen  of 
France ; ” and  on  finishing  these  words,  the  young 
man,  perceiving  that  his  enthusiasm  had  deranged  one 
of  his  ruffles,  set  to  work  to  put  it  to  rights  with  the 
greatest  care  imaginable. 

“ Let  us  resume  business,  Sire,”  interrupted  Mazarin, 
who  never  was  enthusiastic  and  who  wore  no  ruffles. 

“Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  Louis  XI Y.  “Enter  upon 
your  communication,  Monsieur  the  Count,”  added  he, 
turning  towards  Athos. 

Athos  immediately  began,  and  offered  in  due  form  the 
hand  of  the  Princess  Henrietta  Stuart  to  the  young 
prince,  the  king’s  brother.  The  conference  lasted  an 
hour ; after  which  the  doors  of  the  chamber  were  thrown 
open  to  the  courtiers,  who  resumed  their  places  as  if 
nothing  had  been  kept  from  them  in  the  occupations 
of  that  evening.  Athos  then  found  himself  again  with 
Eaoul,  and  the  father  and  son  were  able  to  clasp  hands 
once  more. 


vol.  i.  — 26 


402 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

IN  WHICH  MAZARIN  BECOMES  PRODIGAL. 

While  Mazarin  was  endeavoring  to  recover  from  the 
serious  alarm  he  had  just  experienced,  Athos  and  Raoul 
exchanged  a few  words  in  a corner  of  the  chamber. 

“Well,  here  you  are  in  Paris,  then,  Raoul V’  said  the 
count. 

“Yes,  Monsieur,  since  the  return  of  Monsieur  the 
Prince.” 

“ I cannot  converse  freely  with  you  here,  because  we 
are  observed ; but  I shall  return  home  presently,  and 
shall  expect  you  as  soon  as  your  duty  permits.” 

Raoul  bowed  ; and  at  that  moment  Monsieur  the 
Prince  came  up  to  them.  The  prince  had  that  clear 
and  keen  look  which  distinguishes  birds  of  prey  of  the 
noble  species  ; his  physiognomy  itself  presented  several 
distinct  traits  of  this  resemblance.  Of  the  Prince  de 
Conde  it  is  well  known  that  his  aquiline  nose  sprang, 
sharp  and  incisive,  from  a brow  slightly  retreating  and 
not  very  high ; and  this,  according  to  the  railers  of  the 
court,  — a pitiless  race,  even  for  genius,  — constituted 
rather  an  eagle’s  beak  than  a human  nose,  for  the  heir 
of  the  illustrious  princes  of  the  house  of  Conde.  This 
penetrating  look,  this  imperious  expression  of  the  whole 
countenance,  generally  disturbed  those  to  whom  the 
prince  spoke,  more  than  either  the  majesty  or  the  noble 
appearance  of  the  conqueror  of  Rocroy  could  have  done. 
Besides  this,  the  fire  mounted  so  suddenly  to  his  pro- 


MAZARIN  BECOMES  PRODIGAL. 


403 


jecting  eyes,  that  with  the  prince  every  sort  of  animation 
resembled  anger.  Now,  on  account  of  his  rank  every- 
body at  the  court  respected  Monsieur  the  Prince ; and 
many  even,  seeing  only  the  man,  carried  their  respect 
to  the  height  of  fear. 

Louis  de  Conde,  then,  advanced  towards  the  Comte  de 
la  Fere  and  Raoul,  with  the  marked  intention  of  being 
saluted  by  the  one  and  of  speaking  to  the  other.  No  man 
bowed  with  more  reserved  grace  than  the  Comte  de  la 
Fere.  He  disdained  to  put  into  a salutation  all  the 
shades  which  a courtier  ordinarily  borrows  from  the 
same  color,  — the  desire  to  please.  Athos  knew  his  own 
personal  value,  and  bowed  to  the  prince  as  a man,  — cor- 
recting by  something  sympathetic  and  indefinable  that 
which  might  have  appeared  offensive  to  the  pride  of  the 
highest  rank  in  the  inflexibility  of  his  attitude.  The  prince 
was  about  to  speak  to  Raoul.  Athos  prevented  him. 

“ If  M.  le  Yicomte  de  Bragelonne,”  said  he,  “ were  not 
one  of  the  humble  servants  of  your  royal  Highness,  I would 
beg  him  to  pronounce  my  name  before  you,  my  Prince.” 

“ I have  the  honor  to  address  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere,” 
said  Conde,  instantly. 

“My  protector,”  added  Raoul,  blushing. 

“ One  of  the  most  honorable  men  in  the  kingdom,” 
continued  the  prince  ; “ one  of  the  first  gentlemen  of 
France,  and  of  whom  I have  heard  so  much  that  is  good 
that  I have  frequently  desired  to  number  him  among  my 
friends.” 

“ An  honor  of  which  I should  be  unworthy,”  replied 
Athos,  “ but  for  the  respect  and  admiration  I entertain 
for  your  Highness.” 

“ M.  de  Bragelonne,”  said  the  prince,  “ is  a good  officer, 
who  it  is  plain  has  been  to  a good  school.  Ah,  Monsieur 
the  Count,  in  your  time  generals  had  soldiers ! ” 


404 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ That  is  true,  Monseigneur ; but  nowadays  soldiers 
have  generals.” 

This  compliment,  which  savored  so  little  of  flattery, 
gave  a thrill  of  joy  to  a man  whom  already  Europe  con- 
sidered a hero,  and  who  might  be  thought  to  be  satiated 
with  praise. 

“ I very  much  regret,”  continued  the  prince,  “ that  you 
should  have  retired  from  the  service,  Monsieur  the  Count ; 
for  it  is  more  than  probable  that  the  king  will  soon  have 
a war  with  Holland  or  England,  and  opportunities  for 
distinguishing  himself  would  not  be  wanting  to  a man 
who,  like  you,  knows  Great  Britain  as  well  as  France.” 

“ I believe  I may  say,  Monseigneur,  that  I have  acted 
wisely  in  retiring  from  the  service,”  said  Athos,  smiling. 
“France  and  Great  Britain  will  henceforward  live  like 
two  sisters,  if  I can  trust  my  presentiments.” 

“ Your  presentiments  ? ” 

“ Stop,  Monseigneur ! listen  to  what  is  said  yonder,  at 
the  table  of  Monsieur  the  Cardinal.” 

“ Where  they  are  playing?  ” 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur.” 

The  cardinal  had  just  raised  himself  upon  one  elbow, 
and  made  a sign  to  the  king’s  brother,  who  went  to  him. 
“ Monseigneur,”  said  the  cardinal,  “ pick  up,  if  you  please, 
all  those  gold  crowns  ; ” and  he  pointed  to  the  enormous 
pile  of  yellow  and  glittering  pieces  which  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  had  gradually  accumulated  by  a surprising  run  of 
luck  at  play. 

“ For  me  ? ” cried  the  Due  d’ Anjou. 

“ Those  fifty  thousand  crowns ; yes,  Monseigneur,  they 
are  yours.” 

“ Do  you  give  them  to  me  ? ” 

“ I have  been  playing  on  your  account,  Monseigneur,” 
replied  the  cardinal,  getting  weaker  and  weaker,  as  if  this 


MAZARIN  BECOMES  PRODIGAL. 


405 


effort  of  giving  money  had  exhausted  all  his  physical  and 
moral  faculties. 

“ Oh,  good  heavens  ! ” exclaimed  Philip,  wild  with  joy  ; 
“ what  a fortunate  day  ! ” and  he  himself,  making  a rake 
of  his  fingers,  drew  a part  of  the  sum  into  his  pockets, 
which  he  filled,  and  still  full  a third  remained  on  the 
table. 

u Chevalier,”  said  Philip  to  his  favorite,  the  Chevalier 
de  Lorraine,  “ come  hither,  Chevalier.”  The  favorite 
quickly  obeyed.  “ Pocket  the  rest,”  said  the  young 
prince. 

This  singular  scene  was  regarded  by  those  present  as 
only  an  exhibition  of  family  feeling.  The  cardinal  as- 
sumed the  airs  of  a father  with  the  sons  of  France,  and 
the  two  young  princes  had  grown  up  under  his  wing. 
No  one  then  imputed  this  liberality  on  the  part  of  the 
first  minister  to  pride,  or  even  impertinence,  as  we 
should  nowadays.  The  courtiers  contented  themselves 
with  envying  the  prince.  The  king  turned  away  his 
head. 

“I  never  had  so  much  money  before,”  said  the  young 
prince,  joyously,  as  he  crossed  the  chamber  with  his 
favorite,  to  go  to  his  carriage.  “ No,  never  ! How  heavy 
they  are,  — a hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres  ! ” 

“ But  why  has  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  given  all  that 
money  at  once  1 ” asked  Monsieur  the  Prince  of  the 
Comte  de  la  Fere.  “ He  must  be  very  ill,  the  dear 
cardinal ! ” 

“Yes,  Monseigneur,  very  ill,  without  doubt;  and  be- 
sides, he  looks  very  ill,  as  your  Highness  may  perceive.” 

“Assuredly!  but  he  will  die  of  it.  A hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  livres ! Oh,  it  is  incredible  ! But  why, 
Count  ? Tell  me  a reason  for  it.” 

“Patience,  Monseigneur,  I beg  of  you.  Here  comes 


406 


THE  VICOMTK  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


M.  le  Due  d’Anjou,  talking  with  the  Chevalier  de  Lor- 
raine ; I should  not  be  surprised  if  they  spared  us  the 
trouble  of  being  indiscreet.  Listen  to  them.” 

Tn  fact,  the  chevalier  said  to  the  prince  in  a low  voice: 
•‘Monseigneur,  it  is  not  natural  for  M.  Mazarin  to  give 
you  so  much  money.  Take  care  ! you  will  let  some  of 
the  pieces  fall,  Monseigneur.  What  design  has  the 
cardinal  upon  you,  to  make  him  so  generous  1 ” 

“ As  I said,”  whispered  Athos  in  the  prince’s  ear,  “now, 
perhaps,  we  shall  have  a reply  to  your  question.” 

“Tell  me,  Monseigneur,”  repeated  the  chevalier,  im- 
patiently, while  he  estimated,  by  weighing  it  in  his 
pocket,  the  quota  of  the  gift  which  had  glanced  his 
way. 

“My  dear  chevalier,  a nuptial  present.” 

“ What ! a nuptial  present ! ” 

“ Eh  ! yes,  I am  going  to  be  married  ! ” replied  the 
Due  d’Anjou,  without  perceiving,  at  the  moment  he 
was  passing,  the  prince  and  Athos,  who  both  bowed 
respectfully. 

The  chevalier  darted  at  the  young  duke  a glance  so 
strange  and  so  malicious  that  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  was 
startled  by  it.  “You!  you  to  be  married!”  repeated 
he ; “ oh,  that ’s  impossible  ! You  would  not  commit 
such  a folly  ! ” 

“Bah!  I don’t  do  it  myself;  I am  made  to  do  it,” 
replied  the  Due  d ’Anjou.  “ But  come  quick  ! let  us  get 
rid  of  our  money.”  Thereupon  he  disappeared  with  his 
companion,  laughing  and  talking,  while  all  heads  bowed 
as  he  went  by. 

“Then,”  whispered  the  prince  to  Athos,  “that  is  the 
secret.” 

“It  was  not  I that  told  you  so,  Monseigneur.” 

“ He  is  to  marry  the  sister  of  Charles  II.  1" 


MAZARIN  BECOMES  PRODIGAL. 


407 


“ I believe  so.” 

The  prince  reflected  for  a moment,  and  his  eye  shot 
forth  a vivid  flash.  “ Humph  ! ” said  he  slowly,  as  if 
speaking  to  himself ; “ once  more  our  swords  are  to  be 
hung  on  the  wall  — for  a long  time  ! ” and  he  sighed. 

All  which  that  sigh  contained  of  ambition  silently 
stifled,  of  illusions  extinguished  and  hopes  disappointed, 
Athos  alone  divined,  for  he  alone  had  heard  it.  Imme- 
diately after,  the  prince  took  leave  and  the  king  departed. 
Athos,  by  a sign  made  to  Bragelonne,  renewed  the  desire 
he  had  expressed  at  the  beginning  of  the  scene.  By 
degrees  the  chamber  was  deserted,  and  Mazarin  was  left 
alone,  a prey  to  sufferings  which  he  could  no  longer  con- 
ceal. “ Bernouin  ! Bernouin  ! ” cried  he,  in  a broken 
voice. 

“ What  does  Monseigneur  want  h ” 

“ Guenaud,  — let  Guenaud  be  sent  for,”  said  his  Emi- 
nence. “ I think  I am  dying.” 

Bernouin,  in  great  terror,  rushed  into  the  cabinet  to 
give  the  order;  and  the  courier,  who  hastened  to  fetch 
the  physician,  passed  the  king’s  carriage  in  the  Bue 
St.  Honore. 


408 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

GUENAUD. 

The  order  of  the  cardinal  was  pressing  ; Guenaud  quickly- 
obeyed  it.  He  found  his  patient  stretched  upon  his  bed, 
his  legs  swelled,  livid,  and  his  stomach  collapsed.  Maza- 
rin  had  just  undergone  a severe  attack  of  gout.  He  suf- 
fered cruelly,  and  with  the  impatience  of  a man  who  has 
not  been  accustomed  to  resistance.  On  the  arrival  of 
Guenaud,  “ Ah  ! ” said  he,  “ now  I am  saved  ! ” 

Guenaud  was  a very  learned  and  circumspect  man, 
who  did  not  need  the  censure  of  Boileau  to  obtain  a repu- 
tation. When  in  face  of  a disease,  if  it  were  personified 
in  a king,  he  treated  the  patient  as  a Turk  or  a Moor.  He 
did  not  therefore  reply  to  Mazarin  as  the  minister  ex- 
pected : ‘‘Here  is  the  doctor;  good-by,  disease.,,  On 
the  contrary,  on  examining  his  patient  with  a very 
serious  air,  “ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  he. 

“ Eh  ? what  ? Guenaud  ! How  you  look  ! ” 

“I  look  as  I ought  to  do  on  seeing  your  complaint, 
Monseigneur ; it  is  a very  dangerous  one.” 

“ The  gout  — oh,  yes,  the  gout.” 

“ With  complications,  Monseigneur.” 

Mazarin  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and,  questioning 
by  look  and  gesture  : 66  What  do  you  mean  by  that  1 Am 
I worse  than  I think  1 ” 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  Guenaud,  seating  himself  by  the 
bed,  “your  Eminence  has  wwked  very  hard  during  your 
life  ; your  Eminence  has  suffered  much.” 


GUENAUD. 


409 


“ But  I am  not  so  very  old,  I fancy.  The  late  M.  de 
Richelieu  was  but  seventeen  months  younger  than  I am, 
when  he  died  — and  died  of  a mortal  disease.  I am 
young,  Guenaud ; remember  that  I am  scarcely  fifty- 
two.” 

“ Oh,  Monseigneur,  you  are  much  more  than  that  ! 
How  long  did  the  Fronde  last  1 ” 

“ Why  do  you  ask  that  ] ” 

“For  a medical  calculation,  Monseigneur.” 

“Well,  some  ten  years  — off  and  on.” 

“Very  well;  be  kind  enough  to  reckon  every  year  of 
the  Fronde  as  three  years,  — that  makes  thirty^ ; now 
twenty  and  fifty-two  make  seventy-two  years.  You  are 
seventy-two,  Monseigneur  ! and  that  is  a great  age.” 
While  saying  this,  he  felt  the  pulse  of  his  patient.  It 
exhibited  indications  so  fatal  that  the  physician  continued, 
notwithstanding  the  interruptions  of  the  patient : “ Put 
down  the  years  of  the  Fronde  at  four  each;  you  have 
lived  eighty-two  years.” 

“ Are  you  speaking  seriously,  Guenaud  1 ” 

“Alas!  yes,  Monseigneur.” 

“You  announce  to  me,  then,  in  this  roundabout  way, 
that  I am  very  ill] ” 

“ My  faith  ! yes,  Monseigneur ; and  with  a man  of  the 
mind  and  courage  of  your  Eminence,  it  ought  not  to  be 
necessary  to  speak  indirectly.” 

The  cardinal  breathed  with  such  difficulty  that  he  in- 
spired pity  even  in  a pitiless  physician.  “ There  are 
diseases  and  diseases,”  resumed  Mazarin  ; “ from  some 
of  them  people  escape.” 

“ That  is  true,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Is  it  not  ] ” cried  Mazarin,  almost  joyously ; “ for,  in 
short,  of  what  use  would  power  be,  and  strength,  and  will  1 
Of  what  use  would  genius  be,  — your  genius,  Guenaud] 


410 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Of  what  use  would  science  and  art  be,  if  the  patient,  who 
controls  all  that,  cannot  be  saved  from  peril  1 ” 

Guenaud  was  about  to  open  his  mouth,  but  Mazarin 
continued. 

“ Kemember,”  said  he,  “ I am  the  most  confiding  of 
your  patients;  remember  that  I obey  you  blindly,  and 
that  consequently  — ” 

“I  know  all  that,”  said  Guenaud. 

“ I shall  be  cured,  then  1 ” 

“ Monseigneur,  there  is  neither  strength  of  will,  nor 
power,  nor  genius,  nor  science  that  can  overcome  disease, 
which  God  doubtless  sends,  or  which  he  cast  upon  the 
earth  at  the  creation,  with  full  power  to  destroy  and  kill 
mankind.  When  the  disease  is  mortal,  it  kills,  and 
nothing  can  — ” 

“ Is  — my  disease  — mortal  'l  ” asked  Mazarin. 

“ Yes,  Mon  seigneur.” 

His  Eminence  sank  down  for  a moment,  like  an  unfor- 
tunate wretch  who  is  crushed  by  a falling  column.  But 
the  spirit  of  Mazarin  was  strong,  or  rather  his  mind  was 
firm.  “ Guenaud,”  said  he,  recovering  from  the  first 
shock,  “you  will  permit  me  to  appeal  from  your  judgment. 
I will  call  together  the  most  learned  men  of  Europe;  I 
will  consult  them.  I will  live,  in  short,  by  the  power  of 
some  remedy,  I care  not  what.” 

et  Monseigneur  must  not  suppose,”  said  Guenaud,  “ that 
I have  the  presumption  to  pronounce  alone  upon  an  ex- 
istence so  valuable  as  his.  1 have  already  assembled  all 
the  good  physicians  and  practitioners  of  France  and 
Europe.  There  were  twelve  of  them.” 

“ And  they  have  said  — ” 

“ They  have  said  that  your  Eminence  is  attacked  with 
a mortal  disease ; I have  the  consultation  signed  in  my 
portfolio.  If  your  Eminence  will  please  to  see  it,  you 


GUENAUD. 


411 


will  find  the  names  of  all  the  incurable  diseases  we  have 
met  with.  There  is,  first  — ” 

44  No,  no  ! ” cried  Mazarin,  pushing  away  the  paper. 
44  No,  no,  Guenaud,  I yield  ! I yield  ! 99  and  a profound 
silence,  during  which  the  cardinal  resumed  his  senses  and 
recovered  his  strength,  succeeded  to  the  agitation  of  this 
scene.  44  There  is  another  thing,”  murmured  Mazarin  ; 
44  there  are  empirics  and  charlatans.  In  my  country, 
those  whom  physicians  abandon  run  the  chance  of  a 
vender  of  orvietan,  which  ten  times  kills  them,  but  a 
hundred  times  saves  them.” 

“ Has  not  your  Eminence  observed  that  during  the  last 
month  I have  altered  my  remedies  ten  times  ? ” 

44  Yes.  Well  ? ” 

“ Well,  I have  spent  fifty  thousand  livres  in  purchasing 
the  secrets  of  all  these  fellows;  the  list  is  exhausted,  and 
so  is  my  purse.  You  are  not  cured ; and  but  for  my 
art  you  would  be  dead.” 

“ That  ends  it  ! ” murmured  the  cardinal  ; 44  that  ends 
it ; ” and  he  threw  a melancholy  look  upon  the  riches 
which  surrounded  him.  44  And  must  I quit  all  that  h 99 
sighed  he.  44  I am  dying,  Guenaud  ! I am  dying  ! 99 
44  Oh,  not  yet,  Monseigneur  ! 99  said  the  physician. 
Mazarin  seized  his  hand.  44  In  how  long  a time  V9  asked 
he,  fixing  his  large  eyes  upon  the  impassive  countenance 
of  the  physician. 

44  Monseigneur,  we  never  tell  that.” 

44  To  ordinary  men,  perhaps  not ; but  to  me,  — to  me, 
whose  every  minute  is  worth  a treasure.  Tell  me,  Gue- 
naud, tell  me  ! ” 

44  No,  no,  Monseigneur.” 

44 1 insist  upon  it,  1 tell  you  ! Oh,  give  me  a month, 
and  for  every  one  of  those  thirty  days  I will  pay  you  a 
hundred  thousand  livres  ! 99 


412 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Monseigneur,”  replied  Guenaud,  in  a firm  voice,  “ it 
is  God  who  can  give  you  days  of  grace,  and  not  I.  God 
allows  you  only  fifteen  days.” 

The  cardinal  breathed  a painful  sigh,  and  sank  back 
upon  his  pillow,  murmuring,  “ Thank  you,  Guenaud, 
thank  you ! ” 

The  physician  was  about  to  depart  ; the  dying  man 
raising  himself  up,  “ Keep  it  secret,”  said  he,  with  eyes 
of  flame,  “ keep  it  secret  ! ” 

“ Monseigneur,  I have  known  this  secret  two  months ; 
you  see  that  I have  kept  it  faithfully.” 

“ Go,  Guenaud,  — I will  take  care  of  your  fortunes,  — 
go,  and  tell  Brienne  to  send  me  a clerk  ; have  them  call 
M.  Colbert.  Go  ! ” 


COLBERT. 


413 


CHAPTER  XLIY. 

COLBERT. 

Colbert  was  not  far  off.  During  the  whole  evening  he 
had  remained  in  one  of  the  corridors,  chatting  with  Ber- 
nouin  and  Brienne,  and  commenting,  with  the  ordinary 
skill  of  people  of  a court,  upon  the  views  which  developed 
themselves,  like  air-bubbles  upon  the  water,  on  the  sur- 
face of  each  event.  It  is  doubtless  time  to  trace,  in  a few 
words,  one  of  the  most  interesting  portraits  of  the  age ; 
and  we  shall  trace  it  with  as  much  truth,  perhaps,  as 
contemporary  painters  have  been  able  to  do. 

Colbert  was  a man  in  whom  the  historian  and  the  moral- 
ist have  an  equal  interest.  He  was  thirteen  years  older 
than  Louis  XIV.,  his  future  master.  Of  middle  height, 
rather  thin  than  otherwise,  he  had  deep-set  eyes,  a mean 
appearance,  coarse  black  and  thin  hair,  — which,  say  the 
biographers  of  his  time,  made  him  take  early  to  the  skull- 
cap. A look  full  of  severity,  of  harshness  even,  a sort  of 
stiffness,  — which  with  inferiors  was  pride,  with  superiors 
an  affectation  of  virtuous  dignity,  — a surly  cast  of  coun- 
tenance upon  all  occasions,  even  when  looking  at  himself  in 
a glass  alone ; so  much  for  the  exterior  of  this  personage. 
As  to  the  moral  part  of  his  character,  the  depth  of  his 
talent  for  accounts,  and  his  ingenuity  in  making  sterility 
itself  productive  were  much  boasted  of. 

Colbert  had  formed  the  idea  of  forcing  governors  of 
frontier  places  to  feed  the  garrisons  without  pay,  by 
levying  contributions.  Such  a valuable  quality  made 


414 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Mazarin  think  of  replacing  Joubert,  his  intendant,  who  had 
recently  died,  by  M.  Colbert,  who  had  such  skill  in  nib- 
bling down  allowances.  Colbert  by  degrees  crept  into 
the  court,  notwithstanding  the  meanness  of  his  birth ; for 
he  was  the  son  of  a man  who  sold  wine,  as  his  father  had 
done,  but  who  afterwards  sold  cloth,  and  then  silk  stuffs. 
Colbert,  destined  for  trade,  had  been  a clerk  to  a mer- 
chant at  Lyons,  whom  he  had  quitted  to  come  to  Paris  in 
the  office  of  a chatelet  procurator  named  Biterne.  It 
was  here  he  had  learned  the  art  of  drawing  up  an  ac- 
count, and  the  much  more  valuable  one  of  complicating 
it.  That  stiffness  of  Colbert’s  had  been  of  great  benefit 
to  him  ; so  true  is  it  that  fortune,  when  she  has  a caprice, 
resembles  those  women  of  antiquity,  whose  fancy  nothing 
physical  or  moral,  in  either  things  or  men,  could  repel. 
Colbert,  placed  with  Michel  Letellier,  Secretary  of  State 
in  1648,  by  his  cousin  Colbert,  Seigneur  de  St.  Pouange, 
who  favored  him,  received  one  day  from  the  minister  a 
commission  for  Cardinal  Mazarin.  His  Eminence  was 
then  in  the  enjoyment  of  flourishing  health,  and  the  bad 
years  of  the  Fronde  had  not  yet  counted  triple  and  quad- 
ruple for  him.  He  was,  at  Sedan,  very  much  annoyed  at 
a court  intrigue  in  which  Anne  of  Austria  appeared  to  wish 
to  desert  his  cause.  Of  this  intrigue  Letellier  held  the 
thread.  He  had  just  received  a letter  from  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria, — a letter  very  valuable  to  him,  and  strongly  compro- 
mising Mazarin  ; but  as  he  already  played  the  double 
part  which  served  him  so  well,  and  by  which  he  always 
managed  two  enemies  so  as  to  draw  advantage  from  both, 
either  by  embroiling  them  more  and  more  or  by  recon- 
ciling them,  Michel  Letellier  wished  to  send  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria’s letter  to  Mazarin,  in  order  that  he  might  take 
notice  of  him  and  be  grateful  for  a service  so  handsomely 
rendered.  To  send  the  letter  was  an  easy  matter;  to 


COLBERT. 


415 


recover  it  again,  after  having  communicated  it,  that  was 
the  difficulty.  Letellier  cast  his  eyes  around  him,  and 
seeing  the  black  and  meagre  clerk  scribbling  away  with 
his  scowling  brow,  in  his  office,  preferred  him  to  the  best 
gendarme  for  the  execution  of  this  design. 

Colbert  was  commanded  to  set  out  for  Sedan,  with  pos- 
itive orders  to  carry  the  letter  to  Mazarin  and  bring  it 
back  to  Letellier.  He  listened  to  his  orders  with  scrupu- 
lous attention,  required  them  to  be  repeated  to  him  tw7ice, 
and  was  particular  in  learning  whether  the  bringing  back 
was  as  necessary  as  the  communicating;  and  Letellier 
said  to  him,  “ More  necessary/7  Then  he  set  out,  trav- 
elled like  a courier,  without  any  care  for  his  body,  and 
placed  in  the  hands  of  Mazarin,  first  a letter  from  Letel- 
lier, which  announced  to  the  cardinal  the  sending  of  the 
precious  letter,  and  then  that  letter  itself.  Mazarin  col- 
ored greatly  while  reading  Anne  of  Austria’s  letter,  gave 
Colbert  a gracious  smile,  and  dismissed  him. 

“ When  shall  I have  the  answer,  Monseigneur  1 ” said 
the  courier,  humbly. 

“ To-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow  morning  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

The  clerk  turned  upon  his  heel,  after  making  his  very 
best  bow.  The  next  day  he  was  at  his  post  at  seven 
o’clock.  Mazarin  made  him  wait  till  ten.  He  remained 
patiently  in  the  antechamber  ; his  turn  having  come,  he 
entered.  Mazarin  gave  him  a sealed  packet.  Upon  the 
envelope  of  this  packet  were  these  words  : UAM.  Michel 
Letellier,”  etc.  Colbert  looked  at  the  packet  with  much 
attention  ; the  cardinal  put  on  a pleasant  countenance, 
and  pushed  him  towards  the  door. 

“ And  the  letter  of  the  queen-mother,  Monseigneur  1 ” 
asked  Colbert. 


416 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BK  AGELONNE. 


“ It  is  with  the  rest  in  the  packet/’  said  Mazarin. 

“Oh,  very  well  !”  replied  Colbert;  and  placing  his  hat 
between  his  knees,  he  began  to  unseal  the  packet. 

Mazarin  uttered  a cry.  “ What  are  you  doing  ?”  said 
he,  angrily. 

“ I am  unsealing  the  packet,  Monseigneur.” 

“You  mistrust  me,  then,  master  pedant,  do  you?  Did 
any  one  ever  see  such  impertinence  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Monseigneur,  do  not  be  angry  with  me  ! It  is 
certainly  not  your  Eminence’s  word  I place  in  doubt, 
God  forbid  ! ” 

“ What  then  ? ” 

“It  is  the  carefulness  of  your  officials,  Monseigneur. 
Wrhat  is  a letter  ? A rag.  May  not  a rag  be  forgotten  ? 
And,  look,  Monseigneur,  see  if  I was  not  right.  Your 
clerks  have  forgotten  the  rag;  the  letter  is  not  in  the 
packet.” 

“You  are  an  insolent  fellow,  and  you  have  not  looked,” 
cried  Mazarin,  angrily;  “begone  and  wait  my  pleasure!” 
While  saying  these  words,  with  a subtlety  quite  Italian, 
he  snatched  the  packet  from  the  hands  of  Colbert,  and 
re-entered  his  apartments. 

But  this  anger  could  not  last  so  long  as  not  to  give 
way  in  time  to  reason.  Mazarin,  every  morning,  on  open- 
ing the  door  of  his  cabinet,  found  the  figure  of  Colbert 
standing  like  a sentinel  at  his  post ; and  this  disagreeable 
figure  never  failed  to  ask  him  humbly,  but  with  insist- 
ence, for  the  queen-mother’s  letter.  Mazarin  could  hold 
out  no  longer,  and  was  obliged  to  surrender  the  letter. 
He  accompanied  this  restitution  with  a most  severe  rep- 
rimand, during  which  Colbert  contented  himself  with  ex- 
amining, feeling,  even  smelling,  as  it  were,  the  papers,  the 
characters,  and  the  signature,  neither  more  nor  less  than 
if  he  had  had  to  do  with  the  greatest  forger  in  the  king- 


COLBERT. 


417 


dom.  Mazarin  behaved  more  rudely  still  to  him ; but 
Colbert,  still  impassive,  having  assured  himself  that 
the  letter  was  the  true  one,  went  off’  as  if  he  had  been 
deaf.  This  conduct  afterwards  was  worth  the  post  of 
Joubert  to  him ; for  Mazarin,  instead  of  bearing  malice, 
admired  him,  and  was  desirous  of  attaching  so  much 
fidelity  to  himself. 

It  may  be  judged,  by  this  single  anecdote,  what  the 
character  of  Colbert  was.  Events,  gradually  developing 
themselves,  brought  all  the  resources  of  his  mind  into 
action.  Colbert  was  not  long  in  insinuating  himself  into 
the  good  graces  of  the  cardinal ; he  became  even  indis- 
pensable to  Mazarin.  The  clerk  was  acquainted  with  all 
the  cardinaTs  accounts,  without  his  Eminence  ever  having 
spoken  to  him  about  them.  This  secret  between  them 
was  a powerful  tie  ; and  it  was  for  this  reason  that  when 
about  to  appear  before  the  Master  of  another  world, 
Mazarin  was  desirous  of  taking  Colbert’s  advice  in  dis- 
posing of  the  wealth  he  was  so  unwillingly  obliged  to 
leave  in  this  world.  After  the  visit  of  Guenaud,  he  there- 
fore sent  for  Colbert,  desired  him  to  sit  down,  and  said  to 
him,  “ Let  us  converse,  M.  Colbert,  and  seriously ; for  I 
am  very  sick,  and  I may  chance  to  die.” 

“ Man  is  mortal,”  replied  Colbert. 

“ I have  always  remembered  that,  M.  Colbert,  and  I 
have  worked  with  that  in  mind.  You  know  that  I have 
amassed  a little  wealth.” 

“ I know  you  have,  Monseigneur.” 

“At  how  much  do  you  estimate,  approximately,  the 
amount  of  this  wealth,  M.  Colbert  ?” 

“At  forty  million  five  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
two  hundred  livres  nine  sous  eight  deniers,”  replied 
Colbert. 

The  cardinal  fetched  a deep  sigh,  and  looked  at  Col 
vol.  i.  — 27 


418 


THE  VIOOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


bert  with  wonder ; but  he  allowed  a smile  to  steal  across 
his  lips. 

“ Property  known/’  added  Colbert,  in  reply  to  that 
smile. 

The  cardinal  made  quite  a start  in  his  bed.  “What 
do  you  mean  by  that!”  said  he. 

“ I mean,”  said  Colbert,  “ that  besides  those  forty 
million  five  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  two  hundred 
livres  nine  sous  eight  deniers,  there  are  thirteen  millions 
that  are  not  known.” 

“ Ouf  /”  sighed  Mazarin,  “ what  a man  ! ” 

At  this  moment  the  head  of  Bern ou in  appeared  through 
the  opening  of  the  door. 

“ What  is  it  1 ” asked  Mazarin  ; “ and  why  do  you  dis- 
turb me/’ 

“ The  Theatin  father,  your  Eminence’s  director,  was 
sent  for  this  evening ; and  he  cannot  come  again  to  Mon- 
seigneur till  after  to-morrow.” 

Mazarin  looked  at  Colbert,  who  arose  and  took  his  hat, 
saying,  “ I will  come  again,  Monseigneur.” 

Mazarin  hesitated.  “ No,  no,”  said  . he  ; “ I have  as 
much  business  to  transact  with  you  as  with  him.  Besides, 
you  art  my  other  confessor ; and  what  I have  to  say  to  one, 
the  other  may  hear.  Remain  where  you  are,  Colbert.” 
“But,  Monseigneur,  if  there  be  a secret  of  penitence, 
will  the  director  consent  to  my  being  here1?” 

“ Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that ; come  into  the 
recess.” 

“ I can  wait  outside,  Monseigneur.” 

“ No,  no ; it  will  do  you  good  to  hear  the  confession  of 
a rich  man.” 

Colbert  bowed,  and  went  into  the  recess. 

“ Introduce  the  Theatin  father,”  said  Mazarin,  closing 
the  curtains. 


CONFESSION  OF  A MAN  OF  WEALTH. 


419 


CHAPTER  XLY. 

CONFESSION  OF  A MAN  OF  WEALTH. 

The  Theatin  entered  deliberately,  without  being  too  much 
astonished  at  the  noise  and  agitation  which  anxiety  for 
the  health  of  the  cardinal  had  raised  in  his  household. 

“ Come  in,  my  reverend  father,”  said  Mazarin,  after  a 
last  look  at  the  recess,  — “ come  in,  and  console  me.” 

“ That  is  my  duty,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  Theatin. 
“ Begin  by  sitting  down  and  making  yourself  comfor- 
table, for  I am  going  to  make  a general  confession ; you 
will  afterwards  give  me  a good  absolution,  and  I shall  be 
more  tranquil.” 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  the  father,  “you  are  not  so  ill  as 
to  make  a general  confession  urgent,  and  it  will  be  very 
fatiguing  ; take  care  ! ” 

“ You  suspect,  then,  that  it  may  be  long,  Father'?  ” 

“ How  can  I think  it  otherwise,  when  a man  has  lived 
so  completely  as  your  Eminence  has  done  *?  ” 

“ Ah  ! that  is  true.  Yes,  the  recital  may  be  long.” 

“ The  mercy  of  God  is  great  ! ” snuffled  the  Theatin. 

“ Stop  ! ” said  Mazarin  ; u there  I begin  to  terrify  myself 
with  having  allowed  so  many  things  to  pass  which  the 
Lord  might  reprove.” 

“Is  not  that  always  so'?”  said  the  Theatin,  naively, 
removing  farther  from  the  lamp  his  thin  pointed  face, 
like  that  of  a mole.  “ Sinners  are  so  : forgetful  before- 
hand, and  scrupulous  when  it  is  too  late.” 


420 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Sinners  \_pecheurs\V 9 replied  Mazarin.  “Do  you  use 
that  word  ironically,  and  to  reproach  me  with  all  the  gen- 
ealogies I have  allowed  to  be  made  on  my  account,  — I, 
the  son  of  a fisherman  \_pecheur~\,  in  fact  ? ” 

“ Humph  ! ” said  the  Theatin. 

“That  is  a first  sin,  Father;  for  I have  allowed  myself 
to  be  made  to  be  descended  from  ancient  Roman  consuls, 
T.  Geganius  Macerinus  I.,  Macerinus  II.,  and  Proculus 
Macerinus  III.,  of  whom  the  Chronicle  of  Haolander 
speaks.  Between  ‘ Macerinus  9 and  ‘ Mazarin  ’ was  a 
tempting  similarity.  ‘ Macerinus,’  a diminutive,  means 
leanish , poorish , out  of  case.  Oh,  reverend  father  ! 6 Ma- 
zarin i ’ may  now  well  mean,  in  the  augmentative,  thin  as 
Lazarus.  Look  ! ” and  he  showed  his  fleshless  arms  and 
his  legs  wasted  by  fever. 

“ In  your  having  been  born  of  a family  of  fishermen  I 
see  nothing  blameworthy  in  you,  — for  Saint  Peter  was  a 
fisherman  ; and  if  you  are  a prince  of  the  Church,  Mon- 
seigneur, he  was  the  supreme  head  of  it.  Pass  on,  if  you 
please.” 

“ The  more  readily  because  I threatened  with  the  Bas- 
tille a certain  Bonnet,  a priest  of  Avignon,  who  wanted 
to  publish  a genealogy  of  the  Casa  Mazarini  much  too 
marvellous.” 

“To  be  probable?”  replied  the  Theatin. 

“ Oh,  if  I had  acted  up  to  his  idea,  Father,  that  would 
have  been  the  vice  of  pride,  — another  sin.” 

“ It  was  excess  of  invention  ; and  a person  is  not  to  be 
reproached  with  abuses  of  that  kind.  Pass  on,  pass  on  ! ” 
“I  was  all  pride.  Look  you,  Father,  I will  endeavor 
to  divide  that  into  capital  sins.” 

“I  like  divisions,  when  well  made.” 

“I  am  glad  of  that.  You  must  know  that  in  1630  — 
alas  ! that  is  thirty-one  years  ago.” 


CONFESSION  OF  A MAN  OF  WEALTH. 


421 


“ You  were  then  twenty-nine  years  old,  Monseigneur.” 
“ A hot-headed  age.  I was  then  something  of  a soldier, 
and  I threw  myself  at  Casal  into  the  arquebusades,  to 
show  that  I rode  on  horseback  as  well  as  an  officer.  It 
is  true  I restored  peace  between  the  French  and  the 
Spaniards ; that  redeems  my  sin  a little.” 

“I  see  no  sin  in  being  able  to  ride  well  on  horseback,” 
said  the  Theatin ; “ that  is  in  perfect  good  taste,  and 
does  honor  to  our  gown.  As  a Christian,  I approve  of 
your  having  prevented  the  effusion  of  blood ; as  a monk, 
I am  proud  of  the  bravery  a colleague  has  exhibited.” 
Mazarin  bowed  his  head  humbly.  “Yes,”  said  he; 
“but  the  consequences  1” 

“ What  consequences  ? ” 

“Eh  ! that  damned  sin  of  pride  has  roots  without  end. 
From  the  time  when  I threw  myself  in  that  manner 
between  two  armies,  since  I have  smelt  powder  and 
faced  lines  of  soldiers,  I have  held  generals  a little  in 
contempt.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  father. 

“ There  is  the  evil,  — so  that  since  that  time  I have 
not  found  one  among  them  that  was  endurable.” 

“The  fact  is,”  said  the  Theatin,  “that  the  generals  we 
have  had  have  not  been  remarkable.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Mazarin,  “ there  was  Monsieur  the  Prince. 
I have  tormented  him  thoroughly.” 

“He  is  not  much  to  be  pitied  ; he  has  acquired  suffi- 
cient glory  and  sufficient  wealth.” 

“ That  may  be,  for  Monsieur  the  Prince ; but  M.  de 
Beaufort,  for  example,  — whom  I made  suffer  so  long  in 
the  dungeons  of  Vincennes  ] ” 

“ Ah ! but  he  was  a rebel ; and  the  safety  of  the 
State  required  that  you  should  make  a sacrifice.  Pass 
on  ! ” 


422 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I believe  I have  exhausted  pride.  There  is  another 
sin  which  I am  afraid  to  qualify.” 

“ I will  qualify  it  myself.  Tell  it.” 

“ A great  sin,  reverend  father  ! ” 

“We  shall  judge,  Monseigneur.” 

“ You  cannot  fail  to  have  heard  of  certain  relations 
which  I have  had  — with  her  Majesty  the  queen-mother. 
The  malevolent  — ” 

“ The  malevolent,  Monseigneur,  are  fools  ; was  it  not 
necessary,  for  the  good  of  the  State  and  the  interests  of 
the  young  king,  that  you  should  live  in  good  intelligence 
with  the  queen  1 Pass  on,  pass  on  ! ” 

“I  assure  you,”  said  Mazarin,  “you  remove  a terrible 
weight  from  my  breast.” 

“ These  are  all  trifles  ! Look  for  something  serious.” 

“ I have  had  much  ambition,  Father.” 

“ That  is  the  march  of  great  things,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Even  that  trifle  of  the  tiara  ? ” 

“ To  be  Pope  is  to  be  the  first  of  Christians.  Why 
should  you  not  desire  that  ? ” 

“ It  has  been  printed  that,  to  gain  that  object,  I sold 
Cambrai  to  the  Spaniards.” 

“ You  have,  perhaps,  yourself  written  pamphlets  with- 
out too  much  persecuting  pamphleteers.” 

“ Then,  reverend  father,  I have  truly  a clean  breast.  I 
feel  nothing  remaining  but  slight  peccadilloes.” 

“ What  are  they  h ” 

“ Play.” 

“ That  is  rather  mundane ; but  you  were  obliged  by 
the  duties  of  greatness  to  keep  a good  house.” 

“ I like  to  win.” 

“No  player  plays  to  lose.” 

“ I cheated  a little.” 

“You  took  your  advantage.  Pass  on.” 


CONFESSION  OF  A MAN  OF  WEALTH. 


423 


“ Well,  reverend  father,  I feel  nothing  else  upon  my 
conscience.  Give  me  absolution,  and  my  soul  will  be 
able,  when  God  shall  please  to  call  it,  to  mount  without 
obstacle  even  to  his  throne  — ” 

The  Theatin  moved  neither  his  arms  nor  his  lips. 

44  What  are  you  waiting  for,  Father  1 ” said  Mazarin. 

“ I am  waiting  for  the  end.” 

“ The  end  of  what  1 ” 

“ Of  the  confession,  Monseigneur.” 

66  But  I have  ended.” 

“ Oh,  no ; your  Eminence  is  mistaken.” 

“ Not  that  I know  of.” 

“ Search  diligently.” 

44  I have  searched  as  well  as  possible.” 

“ Then  I will  assist  your  memory.” 

“ Do.” 

The  Theatin  coughed  several  times.  “ You  have  said 
nothing  of  avarice,  another  capital  sin,  nor  of  those  mil- 
lions,” said  he. 

“ Of  what  millions,  Father  1 ” 

“ Why,  of  those  you  possess,  Monseigneur. ” 

44  Father,  that  money  is  mine  ; why  should  I speak  to 
you  about  that  1 ” 

44  Because,  see  you,  our  opinions  differ.  You  say  that 
money  is  yours ; while  I — I believe  it  belongs  in  some 
degree  to  others.” 

Mazarin  lifted  his  cold  hand  to  his  brow,  which  was 
dewed  with  sweat.  44  How  so  1 ” stammered  he. 

44  In  this  way.  Your  Eminence  has  gained  much  wealth 
— in  the  service  of  the  king.” 

“ Humph  ! much  — it  is  not  too  much.” 

4 4 Whatever  it  may  be,  whence  came  that  wealth  1 ” 

44  From  the  State.” 

44  The  State,  — that  is  the  king  ” 


424 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ But  what  do  you  conclude  from  that,  Father]”  said 
Mazarin,  who  began  to  tremble. 

“ I cannot  conclude  without  seeing  a list  of  the  riches 
you  possess.  Let  us  reckon  a little,  if  you  please.  You 
have  the  bishopric  of  Metz  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The  abbeys  of  St.  Clement,  St.  Arnoud,  and  St.  Vin- 
cent, all  at  Metz  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You  have  the  abbey  of  St.  Denis,  in  France,- — a 
magnificent  property  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Father.” 

“ You  have  the  abbey  of  Cluny,  which  is  rich]” 

“ I have.” 

“ That  of  St.  Medard,  at  Soissons,  with  a revenue  of  a 
hundred  thousand  livres]” 

“ I cannot  deny  it.” 

“ That  of  St.  Victor,  at  Marseilles,  — one  of  the  best 
in  the  South ] ” 

“ Yes,  Father.” 

“ A good  million  a year.  With  the  emoluments  of  the 
cardinalship  and  the  ministry,  it  is  perhaps  two  millions 
a year.” 

“ Eh  ! ” 

“ In  ten  years  that  is  twenty  millions ; and  twenty 
millions  placed  out  at  fifty  per  cent  give,  by  compounding, 
twenty  additional  millions  in  ten  years.” 

“ How  well  you  reckon,  for  a Theatin  ! ” 

“ Since  your  Eminence  placed  our  order  in  the  convent 
we  occupy,  near  St.  Germain  des  Pres,  in  1641,  I have 
kept  the  accounts  of  the  society.” 

“ And  mine  likewise,  apparently,  Father.” 

“ One  ought  to  know  a little  of  everything,  Monseigneur.  ” 
“ Very  well.  Now  conclude.” 


CONFESSION  OF  A MAN  OF  WEALTH. 


425 


“ I conclude  that  your  baggage  is  too  heavy  to  allow 
you  to  pass  through  the  gates  of  Paradise.” 

“ I shall  be  damned  ? ” 

“ If  you  do  not  make  restitution,  yes.” 

Mazarin  uttered  a piteous  cry.  “ Restitution  ! — but 
to  whom,  good  God  ? ” 

“ To  the  owner  of  that  money,  — to  the  king.” 

“ But  the  king  has  given  it  all  to  me  ! ” 

“ One  moment,  — the  king  does  not  sign  the  treasury 
orders.” 

Mazarin  passed  from  sighs  to  groans.  “ Absolution  ! 
absolution  ! ” cried  lie. 

“ Impossible,  Monseigneur.  Restitution  ! restitution  ! ” 
replied  the  Theatin. 

“ But  you  absolve  me  from  all  other  sins ; why  not  from 
that  h ” 

“ Because,”  replied  the  father,  “ to  absolve  you  on  that 
count  would  be  a sin  for  which  the  king  would  never 
absolve  me,  Monseigneur.” 

Thereupon  the  confessor  quitted  his  penitent  with  an 
air  full  of  compunction.  He  then  went  out  in  the  same 
manner  as  he  had  entered. 

“ Oh,  good  God  ! ” groaned  the  cardinal.  “ Come  here, 
Colbert ! I am  very,  very  ill  indeed,  my  friend.” 


426 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  DONATION. 

Colbert  reappeared  beneath  the  curtains. 

“ Have  you  heard  h ” said  Mazarin. 

“ Alas  ! yes,  Monseigneur.” 

“Can  he  be  right'?  Can  all  this  money  be  badly 
acquired  % ” 

“ A Theatin,  Monseigneur,  is  a bad  judge  in  matters  of 
finance,”  replied  Colbert,  coolly ; “ and  yet  it  is  very 
possible  that,  according  to  his  theological  ideas,  your 
Eminence  has  been,  in  a certain  degree,  wrong.  People 
generally  find  they  have  been  so,  — when  they  die.” 

“ In  the  first  place,  they  commit  the  wrong  of  dying, 
Colbert.” 

“ That  is  true,  Monseigneur.  Against  whom,  however, 
did  the  Theatin  make  out  that  you  had  committed  these 
wrongs  % — against  the  king  ? ” 

Mazarin  shrugged  his  shoulders.  “ As  if  I had  not 
saved  both  his  State  and  its  finances  ! ” 

“ That  admits  of  no  contradiction,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Does  it  not  ? Then  I have  received  only  a legitimate 
salary,  notwithstanding  the  opinion  of  my  confessor  i ” 

“ That  is  beyond  doubt.” 

“ And  I might  fairly  keep  for  my  own  family,  which  is 
so  needy,  a good  fortune,  — the  whole,  even,  of  what  I 
have  gained  V1 

“ I see  no  impediment  to  that,  Monseigneur.” 


THE  DONATION. 


427 


“ I felt  assured  that  in  consulting  you,  Colbert,  I should 
have  sage  advice,’ ’ replied  Mazarin,  greatly  delighted. 

Colbert  made  a pedantic  grimace.  “ Monseigneur,” 
interrupted  he,  “ 1 think  it  would  be  quite  as  well  to 
examine  whether  what  the  Theatin  said  is  not  a snare.’’ 

“ Oh,  no  ! A snare  % What  for  ? The  Theatin  is  an 
honest  man.” 

“ He  believed  your  Eminence  to  be  at  the  gates  of  the 
tomb,  because  your  Eminence  consulted  him.  Did  not  I 
hear  him  say,  ‘ Distinguish  that  which  the  king  has 
given  you  from  that  which  you  have  given  yourself 9 1 
Kecollect,  Monseigneur,  if  he  did  not  say  something  a 
little  like  that  to  you.  That  is  a speech  quite  in  the 
Theatin  style.” 

“ That  is  possible.” 

“ In  which  case,  Monseigneur,  I should  consider  you 
as  required  by  the  Theatin  to  — ” 

“ To  make  restitution  i ” cried  Mazarin,  with  great 
warmth. 

“ Eh  ! I do  not  say  no.” 

“ Destitution  of  all  1 You  do  not  dream  of  such  a thing ! 
You  speak  like  the  confessor.” 

“ To  make  restitution  of  a part,  — that  is  to  say,  his 
Majesty’s  part ; and  that,  Monseigneur,  may  have  its 
dangers.  Your  Eminence  is  too  skilful  a politician  not  to 
know  that  at  this  moment  the  king  does  not  possess  a 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  livres  clear  in  his  coffers.” 

“ That  is  not  my  affair,”  said  Mazarin,  triumphantly  ; 
“ that  belongs  to  M.  le  Surintendant  Fouquet,  whose  ac- 
counts for  months  past  I have  given  you  to  verify.” 
Colbert  bit  his  lips  at  the  name  of  Fouquet.  “ His 
Majesty,”  said  he,  between  his  teeth,  “ has  no  money  but 
that  which  M.  Fouquet  collects ; your  money,  Monseign- 
eur, would  afford  him  a delicious  banquet.” 


428  THE  VICOMTE  DE  RRAGELONNE. 

“ Well,  but  I am  not  the  intendant  of  his  Majesty’s 
finances ; I have  my  own  purse.  Indeed,  I would  do 
much  for  his  Majesty’s  welfare,  — some  legacy,  — but  I 
cannot  disappoint  my  family.” 

u The  legacy  of  a part  would  dishonor  you  and  offend 
the  king.  Leaving  a part  to  his  Majesty  is  to  avow  that 
that  part  has  inspired  you  with  doubts  as  to  its  lawful 
acquisition.” 

“ M.  Colbert ! ” 

“ I thought  your  Eminence  did  me  the  honor  to  ask 
my  advice  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; but  you  are  ignorant  of  the  principal  details  of 
the  question.” 

“ I am  ignorant  of  nothing,  Monseigneur.  During  ten 
years  all  the  columns  of  figures  which  are  found  in  France 
have  passed  in  review  before  me  ; and  if  I have  painfully 
nailed  them  into  my  brain  they  are  there  now  so  well 
riveted,  that,  from  the  office  of  M.  Letellier,  who  is  mod- 
erate, to  the  little  secret  largesses  of  M.  Fouquet, 
who  is  prodigal,  I could  recite,  figure  by  figure,  all  the 
money  that  is  spent  in  France,  from  Marseilles  to 
Cherbourg.” 

“ Then  you  would  have  me  throw  all  my  money  into 
the  coffers  of  the  king  ? ” cried  Mazarin,  ironically, 
from  whom  at  the  same  time  the  gout  forced  painful 
moans.  “ Certainly  the  king  would  reproach  me  with 
nothing  ; but  he  would  laugh  at  me  while  absorbing  my 
millions,  and  with  reason.” 

“Your  Eminence  has  misunderstood  me.  I did  not, 
the  least  in  the  world,  pretend  that  his  Majesty  ought  to 
spend  your  money.” 

“ You  said  so  clearly,  it  seems  to  me,  when  you 
advised  me  to  give  it  to  him.” 

“Ah!”  replied  Colbert,  “that  is  because  your  Emu 


THE  DONATION. 


429 


nence,  absorbed  as  you  are  by  your  disease,  entirely 
loses  sight  of  the  character  of  Louis  XIV.” 

“ How  so  h ” 

“That  character,  if  I may  venture  to  express  myself 
thus,  resembles  that  which  Monseigneur  confessed  just 
now  to  the  Theatin.” 

“Go  on  ! That  is—” 

“ Pride  ! Pardon  me,  Monseigneur  ; haughtiness  I 
mean.  Kings  have  no  pride ; that  is  a human  passion.” 
“ Pride,  — yes,  you  are  right.  Next  ? ” 

“ Well,  Monseigneur,  if  I have  divined  rightly,  your 
Eminence  has  but  to  give  all  your  money  to  the  king, 
and  that  immediately.” 

“But  what  for'?  ” said  Mazarin,  quite  bewildered. 

“ Because  the  king  will  not  accept  the  whole.” 

“ Oh  ! a young  man  who  has  no  money,  and  is  con- 
sumed by  ambition  ! ” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ A young  man  who  is  anxious  for  my  death  — ” 

“ Mon  seigneur  ! ” 

“ To  inherit,  yes,  Colbert,  yes ; he  is  anxious  for  my 
death  in  order  to  inherit.  Triple  fool  that  I am ! I 
would  prevent  him  ! ” 

“ Exactly ; if  the  donation  is  made  in  a certain  form, 
he  will  refuse  it.” 

“ Well ; but  how  1 ” 

“ It  is  certain.  A young  man  who  has  yet  done 
nothing,  who  burns  to  distinguish  himself,  who  burns  to 
reign  alone,  will  never  take  anything  ready  built ; he  will 
wish  to  construct  for  himself.  This  prince,  Monseigneur, 
will  never  be  content  with  the  Palais-Royal,  which  M.  de 
Richelieu  left  him ; nor  with  the  Palais-Mazarin,  which 
you  have  caused  to  be  so  superbly  constructed ; nor 
with  the  Louvre,  which  his  ancestors  inhabited  ; nor  with 


430 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


St.  Germain,  where  he  was  born.  All  that  does  not  pro- 
ceed from  himself  he  will  disdain.  I predict  it.” 

“And  you  will  guarantee  that  if  I give  my  forty 
millions  to  the  king — ” 

“Saying  certain  things  to  him  at  the  same  time,  I 
guarantee  he  will  refuse  them.” 

“ But  those  things,. — what  are  they  h ” 

“ I will  write  them,  if  Monseigneur  is  willing  to  employ 
me.” 

“ Well ; but,  after  all,  what  advantage  will  that  be  to  meV’ 
u An  enormous  one.  Nobody  will  afterwards  be  able 
to  accuse  your  Eminence  of  that  unjust  avarice  with 
which  pamphleteers  have  reproached  the  most  brilliant 
mind  of  the  present  age.” 

“ You  are  right,  Colbert,  you  are  right ; go  and  seek 
the  king,  on  my  part,  and  carry  him  my  will.” 

“A  donation,  Monseigneur.” 

“ But  if  he  should  accept  it,  — if  he  should  accept  it ! ” 
“ Then  there  would  remain  thirteen  millions  for  your 
family  ; and  that  is  a good  round  sum.” 

“ But  then  you  would  be  either  a fool  or  a traitor.” 
“And  I am  neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  Monseigneur. 
You  appear  to  be  much  afraid  the  king  will  accept ; oh, 
fear  rather  that  he  will  not  accept  ! ” 

“ But,  see  you,  if  he  does  not  accept,  I should  like  to 
guarantee  my  thirteen  reserved  millions  to  him,  — yes,  I 
will  do  so,  — yes.  But  my  pains  are  returning ; I shall  faint. 
I am  very,  very  ill,  Colbert ; I am  very  near  my  end  ! ” 
Colbert  started.  The  cardinal  was  indeed  very  ill ; 
large  drops  of  sweat  flowed  down  upon  his  bed  of  agony, 
and  the  frightful  paleness  of  a face  streaming  with  water 
was  a spectacle  which  the  most  hardened  practitioner 
could  not  have  beheld  without  compassion.  Colbert  was, 
without  doubt,  very  much  affected  ; for  he  quitted  the 


THE  DONATION. 


431 


chamber,  calling  Bernouin  to  attend  the  dying  man,  and 
went  into  the  corridor.  There,  walking  about  with  a 
meditative  expression,  which  almost  gave  nobleness  to 
his  vulgar  head,  his  shoulders  thrown  up,  his  neck 
stretched  out,  his  lips  half  open,  to  give  vent  to  uncon- 
nected fragments  of  incoherent  thoughts,  he  lashed  up 
his  courage  to  the  pitch  of  the  undertaking  contemplated  ; 
while  within  ten  paces  of  him,  separated  only  by  a wall, 
his  master  was  overcome  by  pain  which  drew  from  him 
lamentable  cries,  thinking  no  more  of  the  treasures  of 
the  earth  or  of  the  joys  of  Paradise,  but  much  of  all  the 
horrors  of  hell.  While  burning-hot  napkins,  topicals, 
revulsives,  and  Guenaud,  who  was  recalled,  were  per- 
forming their  functions  with  increased  activity,  Colbert, 
holding  his  great  head  in  both  his  hands,  to  compress 
within  it  the  fever  of  the  projects  engendered  by  the 
brain,  was  meditating  the  tenor  of  the  donation  he 
would  make  Mazarin  write,  at  the  first  hour  of  respite 
his  disease  should  afford  him.  It  would  appear  as  if 
all  the  cries  of  the  cardinal,  and  all  the  attacks  of  death 
upon  this  representative  of  the  past,  were  stimulants  for 
the  genius  of  this  thinker  with  the  bushy  eyebrows,  who 
was  turning  already  towards  the  rising  of  the  new  sun 
of  a regenerated  society.  Colbert  resumed  his  place  at 
Mazarin’s  pillow  at  the  first  interval  of  pain,  and  per- 
suaded him  to  dictate  a donation  thus  conceived  : — 

About  to  appear  before  God,  the  Master  of  mankind,  I beg 
the  king,  who  was  my  master  on  earth,  to  resume  the  wealth 
which  his  bounty  has  bestowed  upon  me,  and  which  my  family 
would  be  happy  to  see  pass  into  such  illustrious  hands.  The 
particulars  of  my  property  will  be  found  — they  are  drawn  up 
— at  the  first  requisition  of  his  Majesty,  or  at  the  last  sigh  of 
his  most  devoted  servant. 


Jules,  Cardinal  de  Mazarin. 


432 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


The  cardinal  sighed  heavily  as  he  signed  this.  Colbert 
sealed  the  packet,  and  carried  it  immediately  to  the 
Louvre,  whither  the  king  had  returned.  He  then  went 
back  to  his  own  home,  rubbing  his  hands  Avith  the 
confidence  of  a workman  who  has  done  a good  day’s 
work. 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


433 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

HOW  ANNE  OF  AUSTRIA  GAVE  ONE  PIECE  OF  ADVICE 
TO  LOUIS  XIV.,  AND  HOW  M.  FOUQUET  GAVE  HIM 
ANOTHER. 

The  news  of  the  extremity  into  which  the  cardinal  had 
fallen  had  already  spread,  and  attracted  at  least  as  much 
attention  among  the  people  of  the  Louvre  as  the  news  of 
the  marriage  of  Monsieur,  the  king’s  brother,  which  had 
already  been  announced  as  an  official  fact.  Scarcely  had 
Louis  XIV.  returned  home,  with  his  thoughts  fully  occu- 
pied with  the  various  things  he  had  seen  and  heard  in 
the  course  of  the  evening,  when  an  usher  announced  that 
the  same  crowd  of  courtiers  who  in  the  morning  had 
thronged  his  lever , presented  themselves  again  at  his 
couclier , — a remarkable  piece  of  respect  which  during  the 
reign  of  the  cardinal  the  court,  not  very  discreet  in  its 
preferences,  had  accorded  to  the  minister  without  caring 
about  displeasing  the  king. 

But  the  minister  had  had,  as  we  have  said,  an  alarm- 
ing attack  of  gout,  and  the  tide  of  flattery  was  mounting 
towards  the  throne.  Courtiers  have  a marvellous  in- 
stinct in  scenting  events  beforehand  : they  possess  a 
supreme  science  ; they  are  diplomatists  to  throw  light 
upon  the  unravelling  of  difficult  circumstances,  captains 
to  divine  the  issue  of  battles,  and  physicians  to  cure  the 
sick.  Louis  XIV.,  to  whom  his  mother  had  taught  this 
commonplace  truth,  among  many  others,  understood  at 
once  that  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  must  be  very  ill. 
vol.  i.— 28 


434 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Scarcely  had  Anne  of  Austria  conducted  the  young  queen 
to  her  apartments  and  relieved  her  brows  of  the  head- 
dress of  ceremony,  when  she  went  to  seek  her  son  in  his 
cabinet,  where,  alone,  melancholy  and  depressed,  he  spent 
upon  himself,  as  if  to  exercise  his  will,  one  of  those  ter- 
rible inward  passions  — kings’  passions  — which  create 
events  when  they  break  out,  and  which  with  Louis  XIV., 
thanks  to  his  astonishing  command  over  himself,  became 
tempests  so  benign  that  his  most  violent,  his  unique 
passion,  that  which  Saint-Simon  mentions  with  astonish- 
ment, was  that  famous  burst  of  anger  which  he  exhibited 
fifty  years  later,  on  the  occasion  of  a little  concealment 
by  the  Due  du  Maine,  and  which  had  for  result  a shower 
of  blows  inflicted  with  a cane  upon  the  back  of  a poor 
valet  who  had  stolen  a biscuit.  The  young  king  then 
was,  as  we  have  seen,  a prey  to  a double  excitement ; and 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  looked  in  a glass  : “ 0 king  ! — 
king  by  name,  and  not  in  fact  ! — phantom,  vain  phan- 
tom as  thou  art ! — inert  statue,  who  hast  no  other 
power  than  that  of  inciting  salutations  from  courtiers  ! — 
when  wilt  thou  be  able  to  raise  thy  velvet  arm,  or  clench 
thy  silken  hand]  When  wilt  thou  be  able  to  open,  for 
any  purpose  but  to  sigh  or  smile,  lips  condemned  to  the 
motionless  stupidity  of  the  marbles  of  thy  gallery  ] ” 
Then,  passing  his  hand  over  his  brow  and  feeling  the 
want  of  air,  he  approached  a window,  whence  he  saw  be- 
low some  cavaliers  talking  together,  and  groups  of  the 
timidly  curious.  These  cavaliers  were  a portion  of  the 
guard  ; the  groups  were  of  the  people,  — to  whom  a king  is 
always  a curious  thing,  as  a rhinoceros,  a crocodile,  or  a 
serpent  is.  He  struck  his  brow  with  his  open  hand,  cry- 
ing : “ King  of  France  ! what  a title  ! People  of  France  ! 
what  a heap  of  creatures  ! I have  just  returned  to  my 
Louvre  ; my  horses,  just  unharnessed,  are  still  smoking, 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


435 


and  I have  created  interest  enough  to  induce  scarcely 
twenty  persons  to  look  at  me  as  I passed.  Twenty  ! what 
do  I say  ? — no  ; there  were  not  twenty  anxious  to  see  the 
King  of  France.  There  are  not  even  ten  archers  to  guard 
my  place  of  residence  ; archers,  people,  guards,  all  are  at 
the  Palais-Koyal  ! My  God  ! why  h Have  not  I,  the 
king,  the  right  to  ask  you  that  ? ” 

“ Because,”  said  a voice,  replying  to  his,  and  which 
sounded  from  the  other  side  of  the  door  of  the  cabinet,  — 
“ because  at  the  Palais-Royal  there  is  all  the  gold,  — that 
is  to  say,  all  the  power  of  him  who  desires  to  reign.” 
Louis  turned  sharply  round.  The  voice  which  had 
pronounced  these  words  was  that  of  Anne  of  Austria. 
The  king  started,  and  advanced  towards  his  mother.  “ I 
hope,”  said  he,  “your  Majesty  has  paid  no  attention  to 
the  vain  declamations  the  idea  of  which  the  solitude 
and  disgust  familiar  to  kings  may  give  to  the  happiest 
characters  % ” 

“ I paid  attention  to  only  one  thing,  my  son,  and  that 
was  that  you  were  complaining.” 

“Who*?  I % Not  at  all,”  said  Louis  XIV.;  “no,  in 
truth,  you  mistake,  Madame.” 

“ What  were  you  doing  then,  Sire  1 ” 

“ I imagined  I was  under  the  ferule  of  my  professor,  and 
was  developing  a subject  of  amplification.” 

“My  son,”  replied  Anne  of  Austria,  shaking  her  head, 
“ you  are  wrong  not  to  trust  to  my  word  ; you  are  wrong 
not  to  grant  me  your  confidence.  A day  will  come,  per- 
haps quickly,  wherein  you  will  have  occasion  to  remember 
that  axiom,  ‘ Gold  is  universal  power ; and  they  alone  are 
kings  who  are  all  powerful.5  ” 

“Your  intention,”  continued  the  king,  “was  not,  how- 
ever, to  cast  blame  upon  the  rich  of  this  age,  was  it  % ” 

“ No,”  said  the  queen,  warmly  ; “ no,  Sire.  They  who 


436 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


are  rich  in  this  age,  under  your  reign,  are  rich  because 
you  have  been  willing  they  should  be  so ; and  I entertain 
for  them  neither  malice  nor  envy.  They  have,  without 
doubt,  served  your  Majesty  sufficiently  well  to  deserve 
that  your  Majesty  should  permit  them  to  reward  them- 
selves. That  is  what  I mean  to  say  by  the  words  for 
which  you  reproach  me.” 

“ God  forbid,  Madame,  that  I should  ever  reproach  my 
mother  with  anything  ! ” 

“ Besides,”  continued  Anne  of  Austria,  “ the  Lord 
gives  the  goods  of  this  world  but  for  a season.  The  Lord, 
as  correctives  to  honor  and  riches,  has  placed  sufferings, 
sickness,  and  death ; and  no  one,”  added  she,  with  a mel- 
ancholy smile,  which  proved  that  she  applied  the  funereal 
precept  to  herself,  — “no  one  can  take  his  wealth  or  his 
greatness  with  him  into  the  tomb.  It  thence  results  that 
the  young  gather  the  abundant  harvest  prepared  for  them 
by  the  old.” 

Louis  listened  with  increased  attention  to  the  words 
which  Anne  of  Austria  pronounced  with  a view,  no  doubt, 
of  consoling  him.  “ Madame,”  said  he  looking  earnestly 
at  his  mother,  “ one  would  almost  say  you  had  something 
else  to  announce  to  me.” 

“ I have  absolutely  nothing,  my  son  ; only  you  cannot 
have  failed  to  remark  that  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  is  very 
ill” 

Louis  looked  at  his  mother,  expecting  some  emotion  in 
her  voice,  some  sorrow  in  her  countenance.  The  face  of 
Anne  of  Austria  was  apparently  a little  changed,  but  that 
was  from  a pain  of  quite  a personal  character.  Per- 
haps the  alteration  was  caused  by  the  cancer  which  had 
begun  to  consume  her  breast.  “Yes,  Madame,”  said  the 
king;  “yes,  M.  de  Mazarin  is  very  ill.” 

“ And  it  would  be  a great  loss  to  the  kingdom  if  his 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


437 


Eminence  were  to  be  called  away  by  God.  Is  not  that 
your  opinion  as  well  as  mine,  my  son  ? ” said  the  queen. 

“ Yes,  Madame ; yes,  certainly,  it  would  be  a great  loss 
for  the  kingdom,1 ” said  Louis,  coloring.  “ But  the  peril 
does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  so  great ; besides,  Monsieur 
the  Cardinal  is  young  yet.”  The  king  had  scarcely 
ceased  speaking  when  an  usher  lifted  the  tapestry,  and 
stood  with  a paper  in  his  hand,  waiting  for  the  king  to 
interrogate  him. 

“ What  have  you  there  ? ” asked  the  king. 

“ A message  from  M.  de  Mazarin,”  replied  the  usher. 

“ Give  it  to  me,”  said  the  king  ; and  he  took  the  paper. 
But  at  the  moment  he  was  about  to  open  it,  there  was  a 
great  noise  in  the  gallery,  the  antechambers,  and  the 
court. 

“ Ah  ! ah  ! ” said  Louis  XIV.,  who  had  no  doubt  what 
the  triple  noise  meant ; “ what  did  I say"?  — there  was  but 
one  king  in  France  % I was  mistaken  ; there  are  two.” 

As  he  spoke  or  thought  thus,  the  door  opened,  and  the 
superintendent  of  the  finances,  Fouquet,  appeared  before 
Louis  XIV.  It  was  he  who  made  the  noise  in  the  gallery  ; 
it  was  his  lackeys  who  made  the  noise  in  the  antechambers; 
it  was  his  horses  that  made  the  noise  in  the  court.  In 
addition  to  all  this  a loud  murmur  was  heard  along  his 
course,  which  did  not  die  away  till  some  time  after  he  had 
passed.  It  was  this  murmur  which  Louis  XIV.  so  much 
regretted  not  hearing  die  away  behind  him,  as  he  passed. 

“ He  is  not  precisely  a king,  as  you  fancy,”  said  Anne 
of  Austria  to  her  son.  “ He  is  only  a man  who  is  much 
too  rich  ; that  is  all.” 

While  saying  these  words,  a bitter  feeling  gave  to  the 
words  of  the  queen  a most  malicious  expression ; whereas 
the  brow  of  the  king,  calm  and  self-possessed,  on  the  con- 
trary, was  without  the  slightest  wrinkle.  He  nodded, 


438 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


therefore,  familiarly  to  Fouquet,  while  he  continued  to  un- 
fold the  paper  given  to  him  by  the  usher.  Fouquet  per- 
ceived this  movement,  and  with  a politeness  at  once  easy 
and  respectful,  advanced  towards  Anne  of  Austria,  so  as  to 
leave  the  king  wholly  at  liberty.  Louis  had  opened  the 
paper,  and  yet  he  did  not  read  it.  He  heard  Fouquet 
making  the  most  charming  compliments  to  the  queen 
upon  her  hand  and  arm.  The  frown  of  Anne  of  Austria 
relaxed  a little  ; she  even  almost  smiled.  Fouquet  per- 
ceived that  the  king,  iustead  of  reading,  was  attending  to 
him  ; he  turned  half  round,  therefore,  and  thus,  while  con- 
tinuing to  be  engaged  with  the  queen,  faced  the  king. 

“You  know,  M.  Fouquet/’  said  Louis  XIV.,  “how  ill 
M.  Mazarin  is  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire,  I know  that,”  said  Fouquet;  “in  fact,  he 
is  very  ill.  I was  at  my  country-house  of  Vaux  when 
the  news  reached  me ; and  the  affair  seemed  so  pressing 
that  I left  at  once.” 

“You  left  Vaux  this  evening,  Monsieur 1 ” 

“ An  hour  and  a half  ago ; yes,  your  Majesty,”  said 
Fouquet,  consulting  a watch  richly  ornamented  with 
diamonds. 

“ An  hour  and  a half ! ” said  the  king,  still  able  to 
restrain  his  anger,  but  not  to  conceal  his  astonishment. 

“ I understand  you,  Sire.  Your  Majesty  doubts  my 
word,  and  you  have  reason  to  do  so  ; but  I have  really 
come  so  quickly,  though  it  is  wonderful.  I have  received 
from  England  three  pairs  of  very  fast  horses,  as  I had 
been  assured.  They  were  placed  at  distances  of  four 
leagues  apart,  and  I have  tried  them  this  evening.  They 
really  brought  me  from  Vaux  to  the  Louvre  in  an  hour 
and  a half ; so  your  Majesty  sees  I have  not  been  cheated.” 

The  queen-mother  smiled  with  secret  envy.  But  Fou- 
quet caught  her  evil  thought.  “ Madame,”  he  promptly 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


439 


said,  “ such  horses  are  made  for  kings,  not  for  subjects  ; 
for  kings  ought  never  to  yield  to  any  one  in  anything.” 
The  king  looked  up. 

“ And  yet,”  interrupted  Anne  of  Austria,  “you  are  not 
a king,  that  I know  of,  M.  Fouquet.” 

“ And  therefore,  Madame,  the  horses  only  wait  the 
orders  of  his  Majesty  to  enter  the  royal  stables ; and  if  I 
allowed  myself  to  try  them,  it  was  only  out  of  the  fear  of 
offering  to  the  king  anything  that  was  not  positively 
wonderful.” 

The  king  became  quite  red. 

“ You  know,  M.  Fouquet,”  said  the  queen,  “ that  at 
the  court  of  France  it  is  not  the  custom  for  a subject  to 
offer  anything  to  his  king.” 

Louis  started. 

“I  hoped,  Madame,”  said  Fouquet,  much  agitated, 
“that  my  love  for  his  Majesty,  my  incessant  desire  to 
please  him,  would  serve  as  a counterpoise  to  that  scruple 
of  etiquette.  It  was  not,  besides,  so  much  a present  that 
I permitted  myself  to  offer,  as  a tribute  I paid.” 

“Thank  you,  M.  Fouquet,”  said  the  king,  politely; 
“ and  I am  gratified  by  your  intention,  for  I love  good 
horses.  But  you  know  I am  not  very  rich  ; you,  who  are 
my  superintendent  of  finances,  know  it  better  than  any 
one  else.  I am  not  able,  then,  however  willing  I may  be, 
to  purchase  such  a valuable  set  of  horses.” 

Fouquet  darted  a look  of  haughtiness  at  the  queen- 
mother,  who  appeared  to  triumph  at  the  false  position  the 
minister  had  got  into,  and  replied  : “ Luxury  is  the  virtue 
of  kings,  Sire ; it  is  luxury  which  makes  them  resemble 
God : it  is  by  luxury  they  are  more  than  other  men. 
With  luxury  a king  nourishes  his  subjects,  and  honors 
them.  Under  the  mild  heat  of  this  luxury  of  kings 
springs  the  luxury  of  individuals,  a source  of  riches  for 


440 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  people.  His  Majesty,  by  accepting  the  gift  of  these 
six  incomparable  horses,  would  have  piqued  the  self-love 
of  the  breeders  of  our  country,  — of  Limousin,  Perche, 
and  Normandie,  — and  this  emulation  would  have  been 
beneficial  to  all.  But  the  king  is  silent,  and  consequently 
I am  condemned.” 

During  this  speech  Louis  was  unconsciously  folding 
and  unfolding  Mazarin’s  paper,  upon  which  he  had  not 
cast  his  eyes.  At  length  he  glanced  at  it,  and  uttered  a 
faint  cry  on  reading  the  first  line. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  my  son  ? ” asked  the  queen,  anx- 
iously, and  going  towards  the  king. 

“ From  the  cardinal,”  replied  the  king,  continuing  to 
read  ; “yes,  yes,  it  is  really  from  him.” 

“ Is  he  worse,  then  ” 

“ Bead  ! ” said  the  king,  passing  the  parchment  to  his 
mother,  as  if  he  thought  that  nothing  less  than  reading 
would  convince  Anne  of  Austria  of  a thing  so  astonishing 
as  was  conveyed  in  that  paper. 

Anne  of  Austria  read  in  her  turn  ; and  as  she  read,  her 
eyes  sparkled  with  a joy  the  more  apparent  for  her  use- 
less endeavor  to  hide  it,  which  attracted  the  attention  of 
Fouquet.  “ Oh!  a regularly  drawn  up  deed  of  donation,” 
said  she. 

“ A donation  ? ” repeated  Fouquet. 

“ Yes,”  said  the  king,  replying  pointedly  to  the  super- 
intendent of  finances,  — “ yes,  at  the  point  of  death, 
Monsieur  the  Cardinal  makes  me  a donation  of  all  his 
wealth.” 

“ Forty  millions  ! ” cried  the  queen.  “ Oh,  my  son, 
this  is  very  noble  on  the  part  of  Monsieur  the  Cardinal, 
and  will  silence  all  malicious  rumors ; forty  millions 
scraped  together  slowly,  coming  back  all  in  one  heap  to 
the  royal  treasury  ! It  is  the  act  of  a faithful  subject 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


441 


and  a good  Christian.”  And  having  once  more  cast  her 
eyes  over  the  letter,  she  restored  it  to  Louis  XIV.,  whom 
the  announcement  of  that  enormous  sum  greatly  excited. 

Fouquet  had  taken  some  steps  backward,  and  remained 
silent.  The  king  looked  at  him,  and  held  the  paper  out 
to  him,  in  his  turn.  The  superintendent  only  bestowed  a 
haughty  look  of  a second  upon  it  ; then  bowing,  “ Yes, 
Sire,”  said  he  ; “a  donation,  I see.” 

“ You  must  reply  to  it,  my  son,”  said  Anne  of  Austria; 
“you  must  reply  to  it,  and  that  immediately.” 

“ But  how,  Madame  ! ” 

“By  a visit  to  the  cardinal.” 

“Why,  it  is  but  an  hour  since  I left  his  Eminence,” 
said  the  king. 

“ Write,  then,  Sire.” 

“ Write ! ” said  the  young  king,  with  evident  repugnance. 

“ Well,”  replied  Anne  of  Austria,  “ it  seems  to  me, 
my  son,  that  a man  who  has  just  made  such  a present 
has  a good  right  to  expect  to  be  thanked  for  it  with  some 
degree  of  promptitude.”  Then  turning  towards  Fouquet, 
“Is  not  that  likewise  your  opinion,  Monsieur'?” 

“ That  the  present  is  worth  the  trouble  ! Yes,  Ma- 
dame,” said  Fouquet,  with  a lofty  air  that  did  not  escape 
the  king. 

“Accept,  then,  and  thank  him,”  insisted  Anne  of 
Austria. 

“What  says  M.  Fouquet1?”  asked  Louis  XIY. 

“ Does  your  Majesty  wish  to  know  my  opinion!” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Thank  him,  Sire — ” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  queen. 

“ But  do  not  accept,”  continued  Fouquet. 

“ And  why  not  1 ” asked  the  queen. 

“ You  have  yourself  said  why,  Madame,”  continued 


442 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BBAGELONNE. 


Fouquet ; “ because  kings  ought  not  to  and  cannot  receive 
presents  from  their  subjects.” 

The  king  remained  mute  between  these  two  so  opposite 
opinions. 

“ But  forty  millions  ! ” said  Anne  of  Austria,  in  the 
same  tone  as  that  in  which,  at  a later  period,  poor  Marie 
Antoinette  replied,  “ You  will  tell  me  so  much ! ” 

“ I know,”  said  Fouquet,  laughing,  “ forty  millions  are 
a good  round  sum,  — such  a sum  as  could  tempt  even 
a royal  conscience.” 

“But,  Monsieur,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  “ instead  of 
persuading  the  king  not  to  receive  this  present,  recall  to 
his  Majesty’s  mind  — you,  whose  duty  it  is  — that  these 
forty  millions  are  a fortune  to  him.” 

“ It  is  precisely,  Madame,  because  these  forty  millions 
would  be  a fortune  that  I will  say  to  the  king,  ‘ Sire,  if  it 
be  not  decent  for  a king  to  accept  from  a subject  six 
horses,  worth  twenty  thousand  livres,  it  would  be  dis- 
graceful for  him  to  owe  a fortune  to  another  subject, 
more  or  less  scrupulous  in  the  choice  of  the  materials 
which  contributed  to  the  building  up  of  that  fortune. ” 

“ It  ill  becomes  you,  Monsieur,  to  give  your  king  a 
lesson,”  said  Anne  of  Austria ; “ rather  procure  him  forty 
millions  to  replace  those  you  make  him  lose.” 

“ The  king  shall  have  them  whenever  he  wishes,”  said 
the  superintendent  of  the  finances,  bowing. 

“Yes ; by  oppressing  the  people,”  said  the  queen. 

“ And  were  they  not  oppressed,  Madame,”  replied 
Fouquet,  “ when  they  were  made  to  sweat  the  forty 
millions  given  by  this  deed?  Furthermore,  his  Majesty 
has  asked  my  opinion,  — I have  given  it ; if  his  Majesty 
asks  my  concurrence,  it  will  be  the  same.” 

“ Nonsense ! accept,  my  son,  accept ! ” said  Anne  of 
Austria.  “ You  are  above  reports  and  interpretations.” 


ADVICE  GIVEN  TO  LOUIS  XIV. 


443 


“ Refuse,  Sire ! ” said  Fouquet.  “ As  long  as  a king 
lives,  he  has  no  other  measure  but  his  conscience,  no 
other  judge  but  his  own  desires;  but  when  dead,  there  is 
posterity,  which  applauds  or  accuses.” 

“ Thank  you,  Mother,”  replied  Louis,  bowing  respect- 
fully to  the  queen.  “ Thank  you,  M.  Fouquet,”  said  he, 
dismissing  the  superintendent  civilly. 

“ Do  you  accept  1 ” asked  Anne  of  Austria,  once  more. 

“ I will  reflect,”  replied  he,  looking  at  Fouquet. 


444 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

AGONY. 

The  day  after  the  deed  of  donation  had  been  sent  to  the 
king,  the  cardinal  caused  himself  to  be  transported  to 
Vincennes.  The  king  and  the  court  followed  him  thither. 
The  last  flashes  of  this  torch  still  cast  splendor  enough 
around  to  absorb  in  its  radiations  all  other  lights.  Be- 
sides, as  has  been  seen,  the  faithful  satellite  of  his 
minister,  young  Louis  XIV.,  marched,  even  to  the  last 
minute,  in  accordance  with  his  gravitation.  The  disease, 
as  Guenaud  had  predicted,  had  gained  the  mastery ; it 
was  no  longer  an  attack  of  gout,  but  of  death.  Then 
there  was  another  thing  which  made  that  agony  more 
agonizing  still ; and  that  was  the  agitation  introduced 
into  his  mind  by  the  donation  he  had  sent  to  the  king, 
and  which,  according  to  Colbert,  the  king  ought  to 
send  back  not  accepted  to  the  cardinal.  The  cardinal 
had,  as  we  have  seen,  great  faith  in  the  predictions  of  his 
secretary  ; but  the  sum  was  a large  one,  and  whatever 
might  be  the  genius  of  Colbert,  from  time  to  time  the 
cardinal  thought  to  himself  that  the  Theatin  also  might 
possibly  have  been  mistaken,  and  that  there  was  at  least 
as  much  chance  of  his  not  being  damned  as  there  was 
that  Louis  XIV.  w6uld  send  him  back  his  millions.  Be- 
sides, the  longer  the  donation  was  in  coming  back,  the 
more  Mazarin  thought  that  forty  millions  were  worth 
a little  risk,  particularly  of  so  hypothetical  a thing  as  the 
soul.  Mazarin,  in  his  character  of  cardinal  and  prime 


AGONY. 


445 


minister,  was  almost  an  atheist,  and  quite  a materialist. 
Every  time  that  the  door  opened,  he  turned  sharply 
round,  expecting  to  see  the  return  of  his  unfortunate 
donation ; then,  deceived  in  his  hope,  he  lay  down  again 
with  a sigh,  and  found  his  pains  so  much  the  greater  for 
having  forgotten  them  for  an  instant. 

Anne  of  Austria  had  also  followed  the  cardinal ; her 
heart,  though  age  had  made  it  selfish,  could  not  help 
evincing  towards  the  dying  man  a sorrow  which  she 
owed  him  as  a wife,  according  to  some  ; and  as  a sover- 
eign, according  to  others.  She  had,  in  some  sort,  put 
mourning  in  her  countenance  beforehand ; and  all  the 
court  wore  it  as  she  did. 

Louis,  in  order  not  to  show  on  his  face  what  was 
passing  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  persisted  in  re- 
maining in  his  own  apartments,  where  his  nurse  alone 
kept  him  company ; the  more  he  reckoned  upon  the 
approach  of  the  time  when  all  constraint  would  be  at 
an  end,  the  more  humble  and  patient  he  was,  falling 
back  upon  himself,  as  all  strong  men  do  when  they  form 
great  designs,  in  order  to  gain  more  spring  at  the  decisive 
moment. 

Extreme  unction  had  been  administered  secretly  to  the 
cardinal,  who,  faithful  to  his  habits  of  dissimulation,  strug- 
gled against  appearances,  and  even  against  reality,  receiv- 
ing company  while  on  his  bed,  as  if  afflicted  with  a merely 
temporary  complaint.  Guenaud,  on  his  part,  preserved 
profound  secrecy;  fatigued  with  visits  and  questions,  he 
answered  only,  “ His  Eminence  is  still  full  of  youth  and 
strength,  but  God  wills  that  which  he  wills;  and  when 
he  has  decided  that  man  is  to  be  laid  low,  he  will  be  laid 
low.”  These  words,  which  he  scattered  with  a sort  of 
discretion,  reserve,  and  selection,  were  commented  upon 
earnestly  by  two  persons,  — the  king  and  the  cardinal. 


446 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Mazarin,  notwithstanding  the  prophecy  of  Guenaud,  still 
deceived  himself,  or  rather  so  well  played  his  part  that 
the  most  cunning,  when  saying  he  deceived  himself, 
proved  that  they  were  his  dupes. 

Louis,  absent  from  the  cardinal  two  days,  — Louis, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  that  same  donation  which  so 
constantly  preoccupied  the  cardinal,  — Louis  did  not 
exactly  know  how  to  interpret  Mazarin’s  conduct.  The 
son  of  Louis  XIII.,  following  the  paternal  traditions,  had 
hitherto  been  so  little  of  a king,  that,  while  ardently 
desiring  royalty,  he  desired  it  with  that  terror  which 
always  accompanies  the  unknown.  Thus,  having  formed 
his  resolution,  which,  besides,  he  communicated  to  no- 
body, he  determined  to  have  an  interview  with  Mazarin. 
It  was  Anne  of  Austria,  who,  constant  in  her  attendance 
upon  the  cardinal,  first  heard  this  proposition  of  the  king, 
and  who  transmitted  it  to  the  dying  man,  whom  it  greatly 
agitated.  For  what  purpose  could  Louis  wish  for  an  in- 
terview ? Was  it  to  return  the  deed,  as  Colbert  had  said 
he  would  ? Was  it  to  keep  it  after  thanking  him,  as 
Mazarin  thought  he  would?  Nevertheless,  as  the  dying 
man  felt  that  the  uncertainty  increased  his  torments,  he 
did  not  hesitate  an  instant. 

“ His  Majesty  will  be  welcome,  — yes,  very  welcome,” 
cried  he,  making  Colbert,  who  was  seated  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  a sign  which  the  latter  comprehended  perfectly. 
“ Madame,”  continued  Mazarin,  “ will  your  Majesty  be 
good  enough  to  assure  the  king  yourself  of  the  truth  of 
wdiat  I have  just  said  ? ” 

Anne  of  Austria  rose  ; she  herself  was  anxious  to  see  a 
decision  reached  in  regard  to  the  forty  millions  which 
seemed  to  lie  heavy  on  the  mind  of  everybody.  Anne  of 
Austria  went  out.  Mazarin  made  a great  effort,  and  rais- 
ing himself  up  towards  Colbert,  “ Well,  Colbert,”  said 


AGONY. 


447 


he,  “ two  days  have  passed  away,  — two  mortal  days,  — 
and,  you  see,  nothing  has  come  back  from  yonder/’ 

“ Patience,  Monseigneur  ! ” said  Colbert. 

“ Art  thou  mad,  thou  wretch  ] Thou  advisest  me  to 
have  patience  ! Oh,  in  sad  truth,  Colbert,  thou  art  laugh- 
ing at  me.  I am  dying,  and  thou  callest  out  to  me  to 
wait ! ” 

“ Monseigneur,”  said  Colbert,  with  his  habitual  cool- 
ness, “ it  is  impossible  that  things  should  not  fall  out  as 
I have  said.  His  Majesty  is  coming  to  see  you;  and,  no 
doubt,  he  brings  back  the  deed  himself.” 

“ Do  you  think  so1?  Well,  I,  on  the  contrary,  am  sure 
that  his  Majesty  is  coming  to  thank  me.” 

At  this  moment  Anne  of  Austria  returned.  On  her 
way  to  the  apartments  of  her  son,  she  had  met  in  the 
antechambers  a new  empiric.  There  was  a suggestion  of 
a powder  which,  it  was  said,  had  power  to  save  the  cardi- 
nal ; and  she  brought  a portion  of  this  powder  wTith  her. 
But  this  was  not  what  Mazarin  expected ; therefore  he 
would  not  even  look  at  it,  declaring  that  life  was  not 
worth  the  pains  that  were  taken  to  preserve  it.  But 
while  professing  this  philosophical  axiom,  his  long-con- 
fined secret  escaped  him  at  last. 

“ That,  Madame,”  said  he,  — “ that  is  not  the  interesting 
part  of  my  situation.  I made  the  king,  now  two  days 
ago,  a little  donation  ; up  to  this  time,  from  delicacy  no 
doubt,  his  Majesty  has  not  condescended  to  say  anything 
about  it ; but  the  time  for  explanation  has  come,  and  I im- 
plore your  Majesty  to  tell  me  if  the  king  has  any  ideas  on 
the  subject.” 

Anne  of  Austria  was  about  to  reply,  when  Mazarin 
stopped  her. 

“The  truth,  Madame,”  said  he,  — “in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  the  truth ! Do  not  flatter  a dying  man  with 


448 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


a hope  that  may  prove  vain ! ” There  he  stopped, 
a look  from  Colbert  telling  him  that  he  was  on  a wrong 
tack. 

“ I know,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  taking  the  cardinal’s 
hand,  — “I  know  that  you  have  generously  made,  not  a 
little  donation,  as  you  with  so  much  modesty  call  it,  but 
a magnificent  gift.  I know  how  painful  it  would  be  to 
you  if  the  king  — ” 

Mazarin  listened,  dying  as  he  was,  as  ten  living  men 
could  not  have  listened. 

“ If  the  king — ” replied  he. 

“ If  the  king,”  continued  Anne  of  Austria,  “ should  not 
freely  accept  what  you  offer  so  nobly.” 

Mazarin  allowed  himself  to  sink  back  upon  his  pillow 
like  Pantaloon,  — that  is  to  sa}7,  with  all  the  despair  of  a 
man  who  yields  to  the  tempest  ; but  he  still  preserved 
sufficient  strength  and  presence  of  mind  to  cast  upon  Col- 
bert one  of  those  looks  which  are  well  worth  ten  sonnets, 
— that  is  to  say,  ten  long  poems. 

“ Should  you  not,”  added  the  queen,  “ have  considered 
the  refusal  of  the  king  as  a sort  of  insult  'i  ” 

Mazarin  rolled  his  head  about  upon  his  pillow,  with- 
out articulating  a syllable.  The  queen  was  deceived,  or 
feigned  to  be  deceived,  by  this  demonstration. 

“ Therefore,”  resumed  she,  “ I have  surrounded  him 
with  good  counsels ; and  as  certain  minds,  jealous,  no 
doubt,  of  the  glory  you  are  about  to  acquire  by  this  gen- 
erosity, have  endeavored  to  prove  to  the  king  that  he 
ought  not  to  accept  this  donation,  I have  struggled  in 
your  favor ; and  so  well  have  I struggled,  that  you  will 
not  have,  I hope,  that  annoyance  to  undergo.” 

“Ah  !”  murmured  Mazarin,  with  languishing  eyes,  — 
“ ah  ! that  is  a service  I shall  never  forget  for  a single 
minute  during  the  few  hours  I have  to  live.” 


AGONY. 


449 


“I  must  admit,”  continued  the  queen,  “ that  it  was 
not  without  trouble  I rendered  it  to  your  Eminence.” 

“ Ah,  peste  ! I believe  that.  Oh  ! oh  ! ” 

“ Good  God  ! what  is  the  matter  ? ” 

“ I am  burning  ! ” 

“ Do  you  suffer  much  ? ” 

“ As  much  as  one  of  the  damned.” 

Colbert  wished  that  he  might  sink  through  the  flooring. 
“So,  then,”  resumed  Mazarin,  “your  Majesty  thinks 
that  the  king  ” — he  stopped  several  seconds  — “ that  the 
king  is  coming  here  to  offer  me  a little  turn  of  thanks 
“ I think  so,”  said  the  queen. 

Mazarin  annihilated  Colbert  with  his  last  look. 

At  that  moment  the  ushers  announced  that  the  king 
was  in  the  antechambers,  which  were  filled  with  people. 
This  announcement  produced  a stir,  of  which  Colbert  took 
advantage  to  escape  by  the  door  of  the  recess.  Anne  of 
Austria  rose,  and  awaited  her  son,  standing.  Louis  XIV. 
appeared  at  the  threshold  of  the  door,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  dying  man,  who  did  not  even  think  it  worth 
while  to  notice  his  Majesty,  from  whom  he  thought  he 
had  nothing  more  to  expect.  An  usher  placed  a chair 
close  to  the  bed.  Louis  bowed  to  his  mother,  then  to  the 
cardinal,  and  sat  down.  The  queen  took  a seat  in  her 
turn.  Then,  as  the  king  had  looked  behind  him,  the 
usher  understood  him,  and  made  a sign  to  the  courtiers 
who  filled  up  the  doorway  to  be  gone,  which  they  in- 
stantly obeyed.  Silence  fell  upon  the  chamber  with  the 
velvet  curtains.  The  king,  still  very  young,  and  very 
timid  in  the  presence  of  him  who  had  been  his  master 
from  his  birth,  still  felt  respect  for  Mazarin,  particularly 
now,  when  touched  with  the  supreme  majesty  of  death. 
He  did  not  dare,  therefore,  to  begin  the  conversation,  feel- 
ing that  every  word  must  have  its  bearing  upon  things  not 
vol.  i.  — 29 


450 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


only  of  this  world,  but  of  the  next.  As  to  the  cardinal, 
at  that  moment  he  had  but  one  thought,  — his  donation. 
It  was  not  physical  pain  which  gave  him  that  air  of  de- 
spondency and  that  lugubrious  look ; it  was  the  expecta- 
tion of  the  thanks  that  were  about  to  issue  from  the 
king’s  mouth,  and  cut  off  all  hope  of  restitution. 

Mazarin  wras  the  first,  to  break  the  silence.  “ Has 
your  Majesty  come  to  make  any  stay  at  Vincennes  1 ” 
said  he. 

Louis  made  an  affirmative  sign  with  his  head. 

“ That  is  a gracious  favor  granted  to  a dying  man,” 
continued  Mazarin,  “ and  will  render  death  milder  to 
him.” 

“ I hope,”  replied  the  king,  “ I have  come  to  visit,  not 
a dying  man,  but  a sick  man  susceptible  of  cure.” 

Mazarin  replied  by  a movement  of  the  head  which 
signified,  (i  Your  Majesty  is  very  kind  ; but  I know  more 
than  you  on  that  subject.”  — “ The  last  visit,  Sire,”  said 
he ; “ the  last  visit.” 

“ If  it  were  so,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  said  Louis,  “ I 
would  come  a last  time  to  ask  the  counsels  of  a guide  to 
whom  I owe  everything.” 

Anne  of  Austria  was  a woman  ; she  could  not  restrain 
her  tears.  Louis  showed  himself  much  affected  ; and  Ma- 
zarin still  more  than  his  two  guests,  but  from  very  differ- 
ent motives.  Here  the  silence  returned.  The  queen 
wiped  her  eyes,  and  the  king  regained  his  firmness. 

“ I was  saying,”  continued  the  king,  “ that  1 owed 
much  to  your  Eminence.”  The  eyes  of  the  cardinal  de- 
voured the  king,  for  he  felt  that  the  great  moment  had 
come.  “ And,”  continued  Louis,  “ the  principal  object 
of  my  visit  was  to  offer  you  very  sincere  thanks  for  the 
last  evidence  of  friendship  you  have  kindly  sent  me.” 

The  cheeks  of  the  cardinal  sank  in,  his  lips  partially 


AGONY. 


451 


opened,  and  the  most  lamentable  sigh  he  had  ever  uttered 
was  about  to  issue  from  his  chest.  “ Sire,”  said  he,  “ I 
may  have  despoiled  my  poor  family,  I may  have  ruined 
all  that  belong  to  me,  — which  may  be  imputed  to  me  as 
an  error ; but  at  least  it  shall  not  be  said  of  me  that  I 
have  refused  to  sacrifice  everything  to  my  king.” 

Anne  of  Austria’s  tears  flowed  afresh. 

“ My  dear  M.  de  Mazarin,”  said  the  king,  in  a more 
serious  tone  than  might  have  been  expected  from  his 
youth,  “you  have  misunderstood  me,  apparently.”  Ma- 
zarin  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow.  “ I have  no  purpose 
to  despoil  your  dear  family,  nor  to  ruin  your  servants. 
Oh,  no,  that  shall  never  be  ! ” 

“ Humph  ! ” thought  Mazarin,  u he  is  going  to  restore 
me  some  bribe ; let  us  get  the  largest  piece  out  of  the 
trap  we  can.” 

“ The  king  is  going  to  be  foolishly  affected,  and  play 
the  generous,”  thought  the  queen.  “ He  must  not  be 
allowed  to  impoverish  himself  ; such  an  opportunity  for 
gaining  a fortune  will  never  occur  again.” 

“ Sire,”  said  the  cardinal,  aloud,  “ my  family  is  very 
numerous,  and  my  nieces  will  be  destitute  when  I am 
gone.” 

“ Oh  ! ” interrupted  the  queen,  eagerly,  “ have  no  un- 
easiness with  respect  to  your  family,  dear  M.  de  Mazarin  ! 
We  have  no  friends  dearer  than  your  friends.  Your 
nieces  shall  be  my  children,  the  sisters  of  his  Majesty ; 
and  if  a favor  be  distributed  in  France,  it  shall  be  to  those 
you  love.” 

“ Smoke  ! ” thought  Mazarin,  who  knew  better  than 
any  one  the  faith  that  can  be  put  in  the  promises  of  kings. 
Louis  read  the  dying  man’s  thought  in  his  face. 

“ Be  comforted,  my  dear  M.  de  Mazarin  ! ” said  he, 
with  a half  smile,  sad  under  its  irony.  “ The  Mesde- 


452 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


moiselles  de  Mancini  will  lose,  when  losing  yon,  their 
most  precious  good  ; but  they  shall  none  the  less  be  the 
richest  heiresses  of  France.  And  since  you  have  been 
kind  enough  to  give  me  their  dowry,”  — the  cardinal 
was  panting,  — “ I restore  it  to  them,”  continued  Louis, 
drawing  from  his  breast  and  holding  towards  the  cardi- 
nal’s bed  the  parchment  which  contained  the  donation  that 
during  two  days  had  occasioned  such  tempests  in  the 
mind  of  Mazarin. 

“ What  did  I tell  you,  Monseigneur  ? ” murmured  in 
the  recess  a voice  which  passed  away  like  a breath. 

“ Your  Majesty  returns  me  my  donation  ! ” cried  Ma- 
zarin, so  disturbed  by  joy  as  to  forget  his  character  of 
a benefactor. 

“ Your  Majesty  rejects  the  forty  millions  ! ” cried  Anne 
of  Austria,  so  stupefied  as  to  forget  her  character  of  one 
in  affliction. 

“Yes,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal;  yes,  Madame,”  replied 
Louis  XIV.,  tearing  the  parchment  which  Mazarin  had 
not  yet  ventured  to  clutch  ; “ yes,  I annihilate  this  deed 
which  despoiled  a whole  family.  The  wealth  acquired  by 
his  Eminence  in  my  service  is  his  own  wealth,  and  not 
mine.” 

“But,  Sire,  does  your  Majesty  reflect,”  said  Anne  of 
Austria,  “ that  you  have  not  ten  thousand  crowns  in  your 
coffers  ? ” 

“ Madame,  I have  just  performed  my  first  royal  action, 
and  I hope  it  will  worthily  inaugurate  my  reign.” 

“ Ah,  Sire,  you  are  right  ! ” cried  Mazarin  ; “ that  is 
truly  great,  that  is  truly  generous,  which  you  have 
just  done;”  and  he  looked  scrutinizingly  at  the  various 
pieces  of  parchment  spread  over  his  bed,  to  assure  him- 
self that  it  was  the  original  and  not  a copy  that  had 
been  torn.  At  length  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  fragment 


AGONY. 


453 


which  bore  his  signature,  and  recognizing  it,  he  sank 
back  swooning  on  his  bolster.  Anne  of  Austria,  without 
strength  to  conceal  her  regret,  raised  her  hands  and  eyes 
towards  heaven. 

“ Ah,  Sire,”  cried  Mazarin,  “ ah,  Sire,  be  you  blessed  ! 
My  God  ! may  you  be  beloved  by  all  my  family  ! Per 
Baccho  ! if  ever  any  discontent  comes  to  you  from  those 
belonging  to  me,  Sire,  only  frown,  and  I will  rise  from 
my  tomb  ! 99 

This  bombast  did  not  produce  all  the  effect  Mazarin 
had  reckoned  upon.  Louis  had  already  passed  to  consid- 
erations of  a more  elevated  nature ; and  as  to  Anne  of 
Austria,  unable  to  support,  without  abandoning  herself  to 
the  anger  she  felt  burning  within  her,  the  magnanimity 
of  her  son  and  the  hypocrisy  of  the  cardinal,  she  arose 
and  left  the  chamber,  heedless  of  thus  betraying  the  ex- 
tent of  her  grief.  Mazarin  saw  all  this,  and  fearing  that 
Louis  XIV.  might  repent  of  his  decision,  began,  in  order 
to  draw  attention  another  way,  to  cry  out,  — as  at  a 
later  period  Scapin  was  to  cry  out,  in  that  sublime  piece 
of  pleasantry  for  which  the  morose  and  grumbling  Boileau 
dared  to  reproach  Moliere.  His  cries,  however,  by  de- 
grees became  fainter ; and  when  Anne  of  Austria  left  the 
apartment,  they  ceased  altogether. 

“ Monsieur  the  Cardinal,”  said  the  king,  “ have  you 
any  recommendations  to  make  to  me  h 99 

“ Sire,”  replied  Mazarin,  “ you  are  already  wisdom  it- 
self, prudence  personified.  Of  your  generosity  I will  not 
venture  to  speak  ; that  which  you  have  just  done  exceeds 
all  that  the  most  generous  men  of  antiquity  or  of  modern 
times  have  ever  done.” 

The  king  received  this  praise  coldly.  “ So  you  confine 
yourself,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ to  your  thanks  ; and  your 
experience,  much  more  extensive  than  my  wisdom,  my 


454 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


prudence,  or  my  generosity,  does  not  furnish  me  with  a 
single  piece  of  friendly  advice  to  guide  my  future.” 

Mazarin  reflected  for  a moment-  “ You  have  just  done 
much  for  me,  Sire,”  said  he,  — “ that  is,  for  mine.” 

“ Say  no  more  about  that,”  said  the  king. 

“Well  ! ” continued  Mazarin,  “I  will  return  you  some- 
thing in  exchange  for  these  forty  millions  you  have  given 
up  so  royally.”  Louis  XIV.,  by  a movement,  indicated 
that  these  flatteries  were  unpleasing  to  him.  “I  will 
give  you  a piece  of  advice,”  continued  Mazarin;  “yes, 
a piece  of  advice,  — advice  more  precious  than  the  forty 
millions.” 

“ Monsieur  the  Cardinal  ! ” interrupted  Louis. 

“ Sire,  listen  to  this  advice  ” 

“I  am  listening.” 

“ Come  nearer,  Sire,  for  I am  weak ! — nearer,  Sire, 
nearer  ! ” 

The  king  bent  over  the  dying  man.  “Sire,”  said 
Mazarin,  in  so  low  a tone  that  the  breath  of  his  words 
came  only  like  a recommendation  from  the  tomb  to  the 
attentive  ears  of  the  king,  — “ Sire,  never  have  a prime 
minister.” 

Louis  drew  back  astonished.  The  advice  was  a con- 
fession ; a treasure,  in  fact,  was  that  sincere  confession 
of  Mazarin.  The  legacy  of  the  cardinal  to  the  young 
king  was  composed  of  six  words  only ; but  those  six 
words,  as  Mazarin  had  said,  were  worth  forty  millions. 
Louis  remained  for  an  instant  confounded.  As  for 
Mazarin,  he  appeared  only  to  have  said  something  quite 
natural.  “And  now,  on  the  part  of  your  family,”  asked 
the  young  king,  “ have  you  any  one  to  commend  to  me, 
M.  de  Mazarin  'i  ” 

A little  scratching  was  heard  along  the  curtains  of 
the  recess.  Mazarin  understood.  “ Yes,  yes  ! ” cried  he, 


AGONY. 


455 


warmly;  “yes,  Sire,  I recommend  to  you  a wise  man,  an 
honest  man,  and  a clever  man.” 

“ Tell  me  his  name,  Monsieur  the  Cardinal.” 

“ His  name  is  yet  almost  unknown,  Sire ; it  is  M. 
Colbert,  my  intendant.  Oh,  try  him  ! ” added  Mazarin, 
in  an  earnest  voice ; “ all  that  he  has  predicted  has  come 
to  pass.  He  has  a safe  glance ; he  is  never  mistaken 
either  in  things  or  in  men,  — which  is  more  surprising 
still.  Sire,  I owe  you  much,  but  I think  I acquit  myself 
of  all  towards  you  in  giving  you  M.  Colbert.” 

“ So  be  it,”  said  Louis,  faintly ; for  as  Mazarin  had 
said,  the  name  of  Colbert  was  quite  unknown  to  him,  and 
he  thought  the  enthusiasm  of  the  cardinal  partook  of  the 
delirium  of  a dying  man.  The  cardinal  sank  back  on  his 
pillow. 

“ For  the  present,  adieu,  Sire,  adieu ! ” murmured 
Mazarin.  “ I am  tired,  and  I have  yet  a rough  journey 
to  perform  before  I present  myself  to  my  new  master. 
Adieu,  Sire  ! ” 

The  young  king  felt  the  tears  rise  to  his  eyes ; he 
bent  over  the  dying  man,  already  half  dead,  and  then 
precipitately  retired. 


END  OF  YOL.  I. 


intmcp  iLtfarar^  lEittion 


THE  ROMANCES 

OF 

ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

Volume  VIII. 

VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE 

PART  SECOND 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  D.  SPROUL 
Publisher 
1896 


Copyright , 1888 , 2555, 

By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company, 


Copyright , 2555, 

By  George  D.  Sproul. 


Mittbersttg  19  cess : 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.  The  First  Appearance  of  Colbert  ...  1 

II.  The  First  Day  of  the  Royalty  of  Louis  XIY.  11 

III.  A Passion 17 

IY.  D’Artagnan’s  Lesson 26 

Y.  The  King 35 

YI.  M.  Fouquet’s  Houses 58 

YII.  The  Abbe  Fouquet 72 

YIII.  M.  de  la  Fontaine’s  Wine 81 

IX.  The  Gallery  of  St.  Mande 86 

X.  The  Epicureans 93 

XI.  A Quarter  of  an  Hour’s  Delay  ....  99 

XII.  Plan  of  Battle 107 

XIII.  The  Pot-House  of  the  Image  de  Notre- 

Dame 113 

XIY.  Yive  Colbert! 123 

XY.  How  the  Diamond  of  M.  d’Eymeris  passed 

into  the  Hands  of  M.  d’Artagnan  . . 131 

XYI.  Of  the  Notable  Difference  D’Artagnan 


FINDS  'BETWEEN  MONSIEUR  THE  INTEND- 

ant  and  Monsieur  the  Superintendent  142 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter 

XVII. 

XVIII. 

XIX. 


XX. 

XXI. 


XXII. 


XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 

XXXI. 

XXXII. 

XXXIII. 

XXXIV. 

XXXV. 


Page 

Philosophy  of  the  Heart  and  Mind  . 151 

The  Journey 156 


How  D’Artagnan  became  acquainted  with 
a Poet  who  had  turned  Printer  for 
THE  SAKE  OF  PRINTING  HIS  OWN  VERSES  163 
D’Artagnan  continues  his  Investiga- 
tions   174 

In  which  the  Reader,  no  doubt,  will 

BE  AS  ASTONISHED  AS  D’ARTAGNAN  WAS 
TO  MEET  WITH  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  . 184 

Wherein  the  Ideas  of  D’Artagnan,  at 

FIRST  VERY  CONFUSED,  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR 

UP  A LITTLE 192 

A Procession  at  Vannes 203 

The  Grandeur  of  the  Bishop  of  Vannes  212 
In  which  Porthos  begins  to  be  sorry 
FOR  HAVING  COME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN  . 225 

In  which  D’Artagnan  makes  all  Speed, 
Porthos  Snores,  and  Aramis  Counsels  . 240 

In  which  M.  Bouquet  Acts 249 

In  which  D’Artagnan  at  last  places  his 
Hand  upon  his  Captain’s  Commission  . 260 

A Lover  and  a Mistress 270 

In  which  at  length  the  True  Heroine 

of  this  History  appears 278 

Malicorne  and  Manicamp 288 

Manicamp  and  Malicorne 295 

The  Courtyard  of  the  Hotel  Grammont  305 


The  Portrait  of  Madame 316 

At  Havre  . . 326 


CONTENTS. 


vii 

Chapter  Page 

XXXVI.  At  Sea 333 

XXXVII.  The  Tents 342 

XXXVIII.  Night 356 

XXXIX.  From  Havre  to  Paris 363 

XL.  What  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 

thought  of  the  Princess  . . . * . 375 

XLI.  The  Surprise  of  Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 

TALAIS 387 

XLII.  The  Consent  of  Athos 400 

XLIII.  Monsieur  becomes  Jealous  of  the  Duke 

of  Buckingham 407 

XLIV.  Forever  ! 419 


XLV.  King  Louis  XIV.  does  not  think  Made- 
moiselle DE  LA  VaLLIERE  EITHER  RlCH 
enough  or  Pretty  enough  for  a 
Gentleman  of  the  Bank  of  the  Vi- 
comte  de  Bragelonne 428 


1 


! 


) 

a 


r 


J 

\ 


l 

; 

( 


THE 


VICOMTE  DE  BEAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  COLBERT. 

Tpie  whole  night  was  passed  in  anguish,  common  to  the 
dying  man  and  the  king  : the  dying  man  expected  his 
deliverance ; the  king  expected  his  liberty.  Louis  did 
not  go  to  bed.  An  hour  after  leaving  the  chamber  of 
the  cardinal,  he  learned  that  the  dying  man,  recovering 
a little  strength,  had  insisted  upon  being  dressed  and 
painted,  and  seeing  the  ambassadors.  Like  Augustus, 
he  no  doubt  considered  the  world  to  be  a great  theatre, 
and  was  desirous  of  playing  out  properly  the  last  act  of 
the  comedy.  Anne  of  Austria  reappeared  no  more  in  the 
cardinal’s  apartments ; she  had  nothing  more  to  do  there. 
Propriety  was  the  pretext  for  her  absence.  On  his  part, 
the  cardinal  did  not  ask  for  her ; the  advice  the  queen 
had  given  her  son  rankled  in  his  heart.  Towards  mid- 
night, while  he  was  still  painted,  Mazarin’s  mortal  agony 
came  on.  He  had  revised  his  will ; and  as  this  will  was 
the  exact  expression  of  his  wishes,  and  as  he  feared  that 
some  interested  influence  might  take  advantage  of  his 
weakness  to  make  him  change  something  in  that  testa- 
ment, he  had  given  the  watchword  to  Colbert,  who 
walked  up  and  down  the  corridor  which  led  to  the 

VOL.  II.  — 1 


5> 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


cardinaFs  bed-chamber,  like  the  most  vigilant  of  senti- 
nels. The  king,  shut  up  in  his  own  apartment,  de- 
spatched his  nurse  every  hour  to  Mazarin’s  chamber, 
with  orders  to  bring  him  exact  intelligence  of  the  car- 
dinal’s state.  After  having  heard  that  Mazarin  was 
dressed,  painted,  and  had  seen  the  ambassadors,  Louis 
heard  that  prayers  for  the  dying  were  begun  for 
the  cardinal.  At  one  o’clock  in  the  morning,  Guenaud 
had  administered  the  last  remedy,  called  the  heroic 
remedy.  It  was  a survival  of  the  old  customs  of  that 
fencing-time,  which  was  about  to  disappear  to  give  place 
to  another  time,  to  believe  that  death  could  be  kept  off 
by  some  good  secret  thrust.  Mazarin,  after  having  taken 
the  remedy,  respired  freely  for  nearly  ten  minutes.  He 
immediately  gave  orders  that  the  news  should  be  spread 
everywhere  of  a fortunate  crisis.  The  king,  on  learn- 
ing this,  felt  a cold  sweat  passing  over  his  brow.  He 
had  had  a glimpse  of  the  light  of  liberty ; slavery  ap- 
peared to  him  darker  and  less  acceptable  than  ever. 
But  the  bulletin  which  followed  entirely  changed  the  face 
of  things.  Mazarin  could  no  longer  breathe  at  all,  and 
could  scarcely  follow  the  prayers  which  the  cure  of  St. 
Nicholas-des-Champs  recited  near  him.  The  king  re- 
sumed his  agitated  walk  about  his  chamber,  and  con- 
sulted, as  he  walked,  several  papers  drawn  from  a casket 
of  which  he  alone  had  the  key.  A third  time  the  nurse 
returned.  M.  de  Mazarin  had  just  uttered  a joke,  and 
had  ordered  his  “ Flora,”  by  Titian,  to  be  revarnished. 
At  length,  towards  two  o’clock  in  the  morning,  the  king 
could  no  longer  resist  his  weariness ; he  had  not  slept  for 
twenty-four  hours.  Sleep,  so  powerful  at  his  age,  over- 
came him  for  about  an  hour.  But  he  did  not  go  to  bed 
for  that  hour ; he  slept  in  a chair.  About  four  o’clock 
his  nurse  awoke  him  by  entering  the  room. 


THE  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  COLBERT. 


3 


“ Well  ] ” asked  the  king. 

“Well,  my  dear  Sire,”  said  the  nurse,  clasping  her 
hands  with  an  air  of  commiseration  ; ‘‘well,  he  is 
dead  ! ” 

The  king  arose  at  a bound,  as  if  a steel  spring  had  been 
applied  to  his  legs.  " Dead  ! ” cried  he. 

“ Alas  ! yes.” 

“ Is  it  quite  certain  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Official]” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Has  the  news  of  it  been  made  public  ] ” 

“Not  yet.” 

“ Who  told  you,  then,  that  the  cardinal  was  dead]  ” 

“ M.  Colbert.” 

“ M.  Colbert]” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  was  he  sure  of  what  he  said  ] ” 

“ He  came  out  of  the  chamber,  and  had  held  a glass 
for  some  minutes  before  the  cardinal’s  lips.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  king.  “ And  what  has  become  of 
M.  Colbert]” 

“ He  has  just  left  the  chamber  of  his  Eminence.” 

“ To  go  whither  ] ” 

“ To  follow  me.” 

“ So  that  he  is  — ” 

“ There,  my  dear  Sire,  waiting  at  your  door  till  it  shall 
be  your  good  pleasure  to  receive  him.” 

Louis  ran  to  the  door,  opened  it  himself,  and  perceived 
in  the  passage  Colbert  standing  waiting.  The  king 
started  at  the  sight  of  this  statue,  all  clothed  in  black. 
Colbert,  bowing  with  profound  respect,  advanced  two 
steps  towards  his  Majesty.  Louis  re-entered  his  cham- 
ber, making  Colbert  a sign  to  follow  him.  Colbert  en- 


4 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


tered.  Louis  dismissed  the  nurse,  who  closed  the  door  as 
she  went  out.  Colbert  remained  modestly  standing  near 
the  door. 

“ What  do  you  come  to  announce  to  me,  Monsieur  ? 99 
said  Louis,  very  much  troubled  at  being  thus  surprised 
in  his  private  thoughts,  which  he  could  not  completely 
conceal. 

‘‘That  the  cardinal  has  just  expired,  Sire;  and  that  I 
bring  your  Majesty  his  last  adieu.” 

The  king  remained  pensive  for  a minute ; and  during 
that  minute  he  looked  attentively  at  Colbert.  It  was 
evident  that  the  cardinal’s  last  words  were  in  his  mind. 
“Are  you,  then,  M.  Colbert'?”  asked  he. 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ The  faithful  servant  of  his  Eminence,  as  his  Eminence 
himself  told  me?” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ The  depositary  of  part  of  his  secrets  ] ” 

“ Of  all  of  them.” 

“ The  friends  and  servants  of  his  deceased  Eminence 
will  be  dear  to  me,  Monsieur,  and  I shall  take  care  that 
you  are  placed  in  my  offices.” 

Colbert  bowed. 

“You  are  a financier,  Monsieur,  I believe]” 

“ Yes,  Sire  ” 

“And  did  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  employ  you  in  his 
stewardship  ] ” 

“He  did  me  that  honor,  Sire.” 

“ You  never  did  anything  personally  for  my  household, 
I believe  ] ” 

“ Pardon  me,  Sire  ; it  was  I who  had  the  honor  of  giv- 
ing Monsieur  the  Cardinal  the  idea  of  an  economy  which 
puts  three  hundred  thousand  francs  a year  into  your 
Majesty’s  coffers.” 


THE  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  COLBERT. 


5 


“ What  economy  was  that,  Monsieur  ? ” asked  Louis  XIV. 
“ Your  Majesty  knows  that  the  hundred  Swiss  have 
silver  lace  on  each  side  of  their  ribbons  ? ” 

“ Doubtless.” 

‘‘Well,  Sire,  it  was  I who  proposed  that  false  silver 
lace  should  be  placed  upon  these  ribbons  ; it  could  not  be 
seen  ; and  a hundred  thousand  crowns  serve  to  feed  a regi- 
ment for  six  months,  or  is  the  price  of  ten  thousand  good 
muskets,  or  is  the  value  of  a vessel  of  ten  guns,  ready  for 
sea.” 

“ That  is  true,”  said  Louis  XIV.,  considering  the  per- 
sonage more  attentively,  “ and  really  there  is  an  economy 
well  placed  ; besides,  it  was  ridiculous  for  soldiers  to  wear 
the  same  lace  as  noblemen  wear.” 

“ I am  happy  to  be  approved  by  your  Majesty.” 

“ Is  that  the  only  appointment  you  held  about  the  car- 
dinal ? ” asked  the  king. 

“ It  was  I whom  his  Eminence  appointed  to  examine 
the  accounts  of  the  superintendent,  Sire.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Louis,  who  was  about  to  dismiss  Colbert, 
but  was  arrested  by  that  word,  — “ ah  ! it  was  you  whom 
his  Eminence  had  charged  to  audit  the  accounts  of  M. 
Fouquet,  was  it?  And  the  result  of  the  examination?  ” 

“ Is  that  there  is  a deficit,  Sire ; but  if  your  Majesty 
will  permit  me  — ” 

“Speak,  M.  Colbert.” 

“ I ought  to  give  your  Majesty  some  explanations.” 

“ Not  at  all,  Monsieur  ; it  is  you  who  have  audited  these 
accounts.  Give  me  the  result.” 

“ That  is  very  easily  done,  Sire  : empty  everywhere, 
money  nowhere.” 

“ Take  care,  Monsieur  ! You  are  rudely  attacking  the 
administration  of  M.  Fouquet,  who  nevertheless,  I have 
heard  say,  is  an  able  man.” 


6 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Colbert  colored,  and  then  became  pale ; for  he  felt  from 
that  minute  he  entered  upon  a struggle  with  a man  whose 
power  almost  equalled  the  power  of  him  who  had  just 
died.  “ Yes,  Sire,  a very  able  man,”  repeated  Colbert, 
bowing. 

“But  if  M.  Fouquet  is  an  able  man,  and,  in  spite  of 
that  ability,  if  money  be  wanting,  whose  fault  is  it  ? ” 

“ I do  not  accuse,  Sire  ; I verify.” 

“ That  is  well ; make  out  your  accounts,  and  present 
them  to  me.  There  is  a deficit,  do  you  say?  A deficit 
may  be  temporary  ; credit  returns,  and  funds  are  restored.” 
“No,  Sire.” 

“Not  this  year,  perhaps,  I understand  that;  but  next 
year?” 

“ Next  year  is  eaten  as  bare  as  the  current  year.” 

“ But  the  year  after,  then  ? ” 

“ Like  next  year.” 

“ What  is  this  you  tell  me,  M.  Colbert  ? ” 

“ I say  there  are  four  years  pledged  in  advance.” 

“We  must  have  a loan,  then.” 

“We  must  have  three,  Sire.” 

“I  will  create  offices  to  make  them  resign,  and  the 
money  of  the  posts  shall  be  paid  into  the  treasury.” 

“ Impossible,  Sire  ; for  there  have  already  been  creations 
upon  creations  of  offices,  the  provisions  of  which  are  given 
in  blank,  so  that  the  purchasers  enjoy  them  without  fill- 
ing them.  That  is  why  your  Majesty  cannot  make  them 
resign.  Further,  upon  each  agreement  the  superintend- 
ent has  made  an  abatement  of  a third,  so  that  the  peo- 
ple have  been  oppressed  without  your  Majesty  profiting 
by  it.” 

The  king  started.  “ Explain  that  to  me,  M.  Colbert.” 

“ Let  your  Majesty  state  clearly  your  thought,  and  tell 
me  what  you  wish  me  to  explain.” 


THE  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  COLBERT. 


7 


“ You  are  right ; clearness  is  what  you  wish,  is  it  not  V1 
“Yes,  Sire,  clearness.  God  is  God,  above  all  things 
because  He  made  light.” 

“Well,  for  example,”  resumed  Louis  XIV.,  “if  to-day, 
the  cardinal  being  dead  and  I being  king,  I wanted 
money  *i  ” 

“Your  Majesty  would  not  have  any.” 

“ Oh,  that  is  strange,  Monsieur  ! How  ! my  superin- 
tendent could  not  find  me  any  money  *?  ” 

Colbert  shook  his  great  head. 

“ How  is  that  *?  ” said  the  king ; “ are  the  revenues  of 
the  State  so  much  in  debt  that  there  are  no  longer  any 
revenues'?” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  to  that  extent.” 

The  king  frowned.  “ If  it  be  so,”  said  he,  “ I will  get 
together  the  orders  and  obtain  from  the  holders  a dis- 
charge, a liquidation,  at  a cheap  rate.” 

“ Impossible  ; for  the  orders  have  been  converted  into 
bills,  which  bills,  for  the  convenience  of  return  and  facility 
of  transaction,  are  divided  into  so  many  parts  that  the 
originals  can  no  longer  be  recognized.” 

Louis,  very  much  agitated,  walked  about,  still  frown- 
ing. “ But  if  this  were  as  you  say,  M.  Colbert,”  said  he, 
stopping  all  at  once,  “ I should  be  ruined  before  I began 
to  reign.” 

“You  are,  in  fact,  Sire,”  said  the  impassive  accountant. 
“ Well,  but  yet,  Monsieur,  the  money  is  somewhere'?” 
“ Yes,  Sire  ; and  even  as  a beginning,  I bring  your 
Majesty  a note  of  funds  which  M.  le  Cardinal  Mazarin 
was  not  willing  to  set  down  in  his  will,  or  in  any  act 
whatever,  but  which  he  confided  to  me.” 

“ To  you  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  with  an  injunction  to  remit  it  to  your 
Majesty.” 


8 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ What  ! besides  the  forty  millions  of  the  will  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ M.  de  Mazarin  had  still  other  funds  ? ” 

Colbert  bowed. 

“ Why,  that  man  was  a gulf ! ” murmured  the  king. 
“ M.  de  Mazarin  on  one  side,  M.  Fouquet  on  the  other, 

' — more  than  a hundred  millions,  perhaps,  between  them  ! 
No  wonder  my  coffers  are  empty  ! ” 

Colbert  waited  without  stirring. 

“And  is  the  sum  you  bring  me  worth  the  trouble'?” 
asked  the  king. 

“Yes,  Sire,  it  is  a round  sum.” 

“ Amounting  to  how  much  ? ” 

“To  thirteen  million  livres,  Sire.” 

“ Thirteen  millions  ! ” cried  Louis,  trembling  with  joy, 
“ do  you  say  thirteen  millions,  M.  Colbert  ? ” 

“ I said  thirteen  millions  ; yes,  your  Majesty.” 

“ Of  which  everybody  is  ignorant  ? ” 

“Of  which  everybody  is  ignorant.” 

“ Which  are  in  your  hands  1 99 
“ In  my  hands ; yes,  Sire.” 

“ And  which  I can  have  ? ” 

“ Within  two  hours.” 

“ But  where  are  they,  then  ? ” 

“ In  the  cellar  of  a house  which  the  cardinal  possessed 
in  the  city,  and  which  he  was  so  kind  as  to  leave  to  me 
by  a particular  clause  of  his  will.” 

“You  are  acquainted  with  the  cardinal’s  will,  then1?” 

“ I have  a duplicate  of  it,  signed  by  his  hand.” 

“ A duplicate  S ” 

“ Yes,  Sire ; and  here  it  is.”  Colbert  quietly  drew 
the  deed  from  his  pocket,  and  showed  it  to  the  king 
The  king  read  the  article  relative  to  the  donation  of  the 
house. 


THE  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  COLBERT. 


9 


“ But,”  said  he,  “ there  is  no  mention  here  but  of  the 
house;  there  is  nothing  said  of  the  money.” 

“ Your  pardon,  Sire  ; it  is  in  my  conscience.” 

“ And  M.  de  Mazarin  has  intrusted  it  to  you  ? ” 

“ Why  not,  Sire  t ” 

“ He  ! a man  mistrustful  of  everybody  ! ” 

“ He  was  not  so  of  me,  Sire,  as  your  Majesty  may 
perceive.” 

Louis  fixed  his  eyes  with  admiration  upon  that  vul- 
gar but  expressive  face.  “You  are  an  honest  man, 
M.  Colbert,”  said  the  king. 

“ That  is  not  a virtue,  Sire ; it  is  a duty,”  replied 
Colbert,  coolly. 

“ But,”  added  Louis,  “ does  not  the  money  belong  to 
the  family  ? ” 

“ If  this  money  belonged  to  the  family,  it  would  be 
disposed  of  in  the  cardinal’s  will,  as  the  rest  of  his  for- 
tune is.  If  this  money  belonged  to  the  family,  I,  who 
drew  up  the  deed  of  gift  in  favor  of  your  Majesty,  should 
have  added  the  sum  of  thirteen  millions  to  that  of  forty 
millions  which  was  offered  to  you.” 

“ How  ! ” exclaimed  Louis  XIV.,  “ was  it  you  who 
drew  up  the  deed  of  gift,  M.  Colbert  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire.”  • 

“ And  yet  the  cardinal  loved  you  1 ” added  the  king, 
artlessly. 

“ I had  assured  his  Eminence  that  your  Majesty  would 
by  no  means  accept  the  gift,”  said  Colbert,  in  that  same 
quiet  manner  we  have  described,  and  which,  even  in  the 
common  habits  of  life,  had  something  solemn  in  it. 

Louis  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow.  “ Oh,  how 
young  I am,”  murmured  he,  “ to  have  the  command  of 
men  ! ” 

Colbert  awaited  the  end  of  this  soliloquy.  He  saw 


10 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Louis  raise  his  head.  “ At  what  hour  shall  I send  the 
money  to  your  Majesty'?”  asked  he. 

“ To-night,  at  eleven  o’clock ; I desire  that  no  one  may 
know  that  I possess  this  money.” 

Colbert  made  no  more  reply  than  if  the  thing  had  not 
been  said  to  him. 

“ Is  the  amount  in  ingots  or  coined  gold  I ” 

“In  coined  gold,  Sire.” 

“ That  is  well.” 

“ Whither  shall  I send  it  ] ” 

“ To  the  Louvre.  Thank  you,  M.  Colbert.” 

Colbert  bowed  and  retired.  “ Thirteen  millions  ! ” ex- 
claimed Louis,  as  soon  as  he  was  alone.  “ This  must  be 
a dream  ! ” Then  he  let  his  head  sink  between  his  hands, 
as  if  he  were  really  asleep.  But  in  a moment  he  raised 
his  head,  shook  out  his  beautiful  locks,  rose,  and  opening 
the  window  violently,  bathed  his  burning  brow  in  the 
keen  morning  air,  which  brought  to  his  senses  the  fresh 
scent  of  the  trees  and  the  perfume  of  flowers.  A splendid 
dawn  was  rising  in  the  horizon,  and  the  first  rays  of  the 
sun  inundated  with  flame  the  brow  of  the  young  king. 
“ This  dawn  is  that  of  my  reign,”  murmured  Louis  XIV. 
“ Is  it  a presage  that  you  send  me,  all-powerful  God  ? ” 


FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  ROYALTY  OF  LOUIS  XIV.  11 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  ROYALTY  OF  LOUIS  XIV. 

In  the  morning  the  news  of  the  death  of  the  cardinal  was 
spread  through  the  castle,  and  thence  speedily  reached 
the  city.  The  ministers  Fouquet,  Lyonne,  and  Letellier 
entered  the  deliberative  chamber  to  hold  a council.  The 
king  summoned  them  immediately.  “ Messieurs,”  said 
he,  “ as  long  as  Monsieur  the  Cardinal  lived,  I allowed 
him  to  govern  my  affairs  ; but  now  I mean  to  govern 
them  myself.  You  will  give  me  your  advice  when  I shall 
ask  it.  You  may  go.” 

The  ministers  looked  at  one  another  with  surprise.  If 
they  concealed  a smile,  it  was  with  a great  effort ; for  they 
knew  that  the  prince,  brought  up  in  absolute  ignorance 
of  business,  by  this  act  of  pride  took  upon  himself  a 
burden  much  too  heavy  for  his  strength.  Fouquet  took 
leave  of  his  colleagues  upon  the  stairs,  saying,  “ Mes- 
sieurs ! there  will  be  so  much  the  less  labor  for  us ; ” 
and  he  gayly  mounted  into  his  carriage.  The  others, 
a little  uneasy  at  the  turn  events  had  taken,  wTent  back 
to  Paris  together. 

About  ten  o’clock  the  king  repaired  to  the  apartment 
of  his  mother,  with  whom  he  had  a strictly  private  con- 
versation. Then,  after  dinner,  he  got  into  his  carriage 
and  went  straight  to  the  Louvre.  There  he  received 
much  company,  and  took  a degree  of  pleasure  in  noticing 
the  general  hesitation  and  curiosity.  Towards  evening 
he  ordered  the  doors  of  the  Louvre  to  be  closed,  with  the 


12 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


exception  of  one  only,  — that  which  opened  upon  the 
quay.  He  placed  on  duty  at  this  point  two  hundred 
Swiss,  who  did  not  speak  a word  of  French,  with  orders 
to  admit  all  who  aimed  packages,  but  no  others  ; and 
by  no  means  to  allow  any  one  to  go  out.  At  eleven 
o’clock  precisely,  he  heard  the  rolling  of  a heavy  car- 
riage under  the  arch,  then  of  another,  then  of  a third; 
after  which  the  door  grated  upon  its  hinges  in  closing. 
Soon  after,  somebody  scratched  at  the  door  of  the  cabi- 
net. The  king  opened  it  himself,  and  beheld  Colbert, 
whose  first  word  wTas  this : “ The  money  is  in  your 
Majesty’s  cellar.” 

The  king  then  descended  and  went  himself  to  see  the 
barrels  of  specie,  in  gold  and  silver,  which,  under  the 
direction  of  Colbert,  four  men  had  just  rolled  into  a cellar 
of  which  the  king  had  given  Colbert  the  key  the  same 
morning.  This  review  completed,  Louis  returned  to  his 
apartments,  followed  by  Colbert,  who  had  not  warmed 
his  immovable  coldness  with  the  slightest  exhibition  of 
personal  gratification. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  “ what  do  you  wish  me  to 
give  you  as  a recompense  for  this  devotion  and  integrity'?” 
“ Absolutely  nothing,  Sire.” 

“ How  ! nothing  ? Not  even  an  opportunity  of  serving 
me  ] ” 

“ If  your  Majesty  were  not  to  furnish  me  with  that 
opportunity,  I should  not  the  less  serve  you.  It  is  impos- 
sible for  me  not  to  be  the  best  servant  of  the  king.” 

“ You  shall  be  intendant  of  the  finances,  M.  Colbert.” 

“ But  there  is  already  a superintendent,  Sire.” 

“ I know  that.” 

“ Sire,  the  superintendent  of  the  finances  is  the  most 
powerful  man  in  the  kingdom.” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Louis,  coloring,  “ do  you  think  so  1 ” 


FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  ROYALTY  OF  LOUIS  XIV.  13 


“ He  will  crush  me  in  a week,  Sire.  Your  Majesty 
offers  me  a comptrollership  for  which  strength  is  indis- 
pensable. An  intendant  under  a superintendent,  — that 
is  inferiority.” 

“ You  want  support,  — you  do  not  reckon  upon  me  1 ” 
“ I had  the  honor  of  telling  your  Majesty  that  during 
the  lifetime  of  M.  de  Mazarin,  M.  Fouquet  was  the  second 
man  in  the  kingdom ; now  that  M.  de  Mazarin  is  dead, 
M.  Fouquet  is  become  the  first.” 

“ Monsieur,  I permit  you  to  tell  me  everything  to-day, 
but  to-morrow  please  to  remember  I shall  no  longer 
suffer  it.” 

“ Then  I shall  be  useless  to  your  Majesty  % ” 

“ You  are  already,  since  you  fear  to  compromise  your- 
self in  serving  me.” 

“ I only  fear  to  be  placed  so  that  I cannot  serve 
you.” 

“ What  do  you  wish,  then  'l  ” 

“I  wish  your  Majesty  to  grant  me  assistance  in  the 
labors  of  the  office  of  intendant.” 

“ The  post  would  lose  in  value  1 ” 

“ It  would  gain  in  security.” 

“ Choose  your  colleagues.” 

“ Messieurs  Breteuil,  Marin,  Hervard.” 

“ To-morrow  the  order  shall  appear.” 

“ Sire,  I thank  you.” 

“ Is  that  all  you  ask  ] ” 

“ Ho,  Sire  ; one  thing  more.” 

“ What  is  that  % ” 

“ Allow  me  to  form  a chamber  of  justice.” 

“ What  would  this  chamber  of  justice  do  ? ” 

“ Try  the  farmers-general  and  contractors  who  during 
ten  years  have  peculated.” 

“ Well,  but  what^would  you  do  with  them  ? ” 


14 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Hang  two  or  three,  and  that  would  make  the  rest 
disgorge.” 

“ I cannot  begin  my  reign  with  executions,  M.  Colbert.” 
“ Change  your  policy,  Sire,  in  order  not  to  end  with 
persecution.”  The  king  made  no  reply.  “ Does  your 
Majesty  consent?”  said  Colbert. 

“ I will  reflect  upon  it,  Monsieur.” 

“ It  will  be  too  late,  when  reflection  may  be  made.” 

“ Why  ? ” 

“ Because  we  have  to  deal  with  people  stronger  than 
ourselves,  if  they  are  warned.” 

“ Form  that  chamber  of  justice,  Monsieur.” 

“ I will,  Sire.” 

“ Is  that  all  1 ” 

“ No,  Sire  ; there  is  still  an  important  affair.  What 
rights  does  your  Majesty  attach  to  this  office  of  intendant  V9 
“ Well  — I do  not  know  — the  customary  ones.” 

“ Sire,  I require  that  to  this  office  be  devolved  the 
right  of  reading  the  correspondence  with  England.” 

“ Impossible,  Monsieur  ; for  that  correspondence  is  kept 
from  the  council.  The  cardinal  himself  carried  it  on.” 

“ I thought  your  Majesty  had  this  morning  declared 
that  there  should  no  longer  be  a council  ? ” 

61  Yes,  I said  so.” 

“ Let  your  Majesty  then  have  the  goodness  to  read  all 
the  letters  yourself,  particularly  those  from  England  ; I 
hold  strongly  to  this  point.” 

u Monsieur,  you  shall  have  that  correspondence,  and 
render  me  an  account  of  it.” 

“Now,  Sire,  what  shall  I do  with  respect  to  the 
finances  ? ” 

“ All  wrhich  M.  Fouquet  does  not  do.” 

“ That  is  all  I ask  of  your  Majesty.  Thanks,  Sire,  I 
depart  at  ease  ; ” and  with  these  words  he  did  depart. 


FIRST  DAY  OF  THE  ROYALTY  OF  LOUIS  XIV.  15 


Louis  watched  him  as  he  went.  Colbert  was  not  yet  a 
hundred  paces  from  the  Louvre,  when  the  king  received 
a courier  from  England.  After  having  looked  at  and 
examined  the  envelope,  the  king  broke  the  seal  hastily, 
and  found  a letter  from  Charles  II.  The  following  is 
what  the  English  prince  wrote  to  his  royal  brother  : — 

tc  Your  Majesty  must  be  rendered  very  uneasy  by  the  illness 
of  Cardinal  Mazarin  ; but  the  excess  of  danger  can  only  prove 
of  service  to  you.  The  cardinal  is  given  over  by  his  physician. 
I thank  you  for  the  gracious  reply  you  have  made  to  my  com- 
munication touching  Lady  Henrietta  Stuart,  my  sister ; and  in 
a week  the  Princess  and  her  court  will  set  out  for  Paris.  It  is 
gratifying  to  me  to  acknowledge  the  fraternal  friendship  you 
have  evinced  towards  me,  and  to  call  you,  more  justly  than 
ever,  my  brother.  It  is  gratifying  to  me,  above  everything,  to 
prove  to  your  Majesty  how  much  I am  interested  in  all  that 
may  please  you.  You  are  having  Belle-Isle-en-Mer  secretly 
fortified.  That  is  wrong.  We  shall  never  be  at  war  against 
each  other.  That  measure  does  not  make  me  uneasy  ; it 
makes  me  sad.  You  are  spending  useless  millions  there.  Tell 
your  ministers  so  ; and  be  assured  that  I am  well  informed. 
Render  me  the  same  service,  my  brother,  if  occasion  offers.” 

The  king  rang  his  bell  violently,  and  his  valet  de 
chambre  appeared.  “ M.  Colbert  has  just  gone  ; he  can- 
not be  far  off.  Let  him  be  called  back  ! ” exclaimed  he. 
The  valet  was  about  to  execute  the  order,  when  the  king 
stopped  him.  “ No,”  said  he,  “ no ; I see  the  whole 
scheme  of  that  man.  Belle-Isle  belongs  to  M.  Fouquet ; 
Belle-Isle  is  being  fortified  ; that  is  a conspiracy  of  M. 
Fouquet’s.  The  discovery  of  that  conspiracy  is  the  ruin 
of  the  superintendent,  and  that  discovery  is  the  result  of 
the  correspondence  with  England.  That  is  why  Colbert 
wished  to  have  that  correspondence.  Oh  ! but  I cannot 
place  all  my  dependence  upon  that  man.  He  is  but  the 


16 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE, 


head ; I must  have  an  arm.”  Louis  all  at  once  uttered 
a joyful  cry.  “ I had,”  said  he  to  the  valet  de  chambre, 
“a  lieutenant  of  Musketeers.” 

“Yes,  Sire;  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“He  left  the  service  for  a time.” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Let  him  be  found,  and  let  him  be  here  to-morrow  at 
my  levee.” 

The  valet  de  chambre  bowed  and  went  out. 

“ Thirteen  millions  in  my  cellar,”  said  the  king,  “ Col- 
bert bearing  my  purse,  and  D’Artagnan  carrying  my 
sword,  — I am  king  ! ” 


A PASSION. 


17 


CHAPTER  III. 

A PASSION. 

The  day  of  his  arrival,  on  returning  from  the  Palais- 
Royal,  Athos,  as  we  have  seen,  went  straight  to  his  hotel 
in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  He  there  found  the  Vicomte  de 
Bragelonne  waiting  for  him  in  his  chamber,  chatting  with 
Grimaud.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  talk  with  this  old 
servant.  Two  men  only  possessed  the  secret,  Athos  and 
D’Artagnan.  The  first  succeeded,  because  Grimaud 
sought  to  make  him  do  the  talking  ; D’Artagnan,  on  the 
contrary,  because  he  knew  how  to  make  Grimaud  talk. 
Raoul  was  occupied  in  making  him  describe  the  voyage 
to  England  ; and  Grimaud  had  related  it  in  all  its  details, 
with  a certain  number  of  gestures,  and  eight  words, 
neither  more  nor  less.  He  had  at  first  indicated,  by  an 
undulating  movement  of  his  hand,  that  his  master  and 
he  had  crossed  the  sea. 

“ Upon  some  expedition'?”  Raoul  had  asked. 

Grimaud,  by  bending  down  his  head,  had  answered, 
“ Yes.” 

“ When  Monsieur  the  Count  incurred  much  danger?” 
asked  Raoul. 

“ Neither  too  much  nor  too  little,”  Grimaud  replied  by 
a shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

“But,  still,  what  sort  of  danger? 99  insisted  Raoul. 

Grimaud  pointed  to  the  sword ; he  pointed  to  the 
fire,  and  to  a musket  hung  up  over  the  wall. 

VOL.  it.  — 2 


18 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  RKAGELONNE. 


“ Monsieur  the  Count  had  an  enemy  over  there,  then  1 ” 
cried  Raoul. 

“ Monk,”  replied  Grimaud. 

“ It  is  strange,”  continued  Raoul,  “ that  Monsieur  the 
Count  persists  in  regarding  me  as  a novice,  and  not  allow- 
ing me  to  share  the  honor  and  danger  of  his  adventures.” 

Grimaud  smiled.  It  was  at  this  moment  Athos  came 
in.  The  landlord  was  lighting  him  up  the  stairs  ; and 
Grimaud,  recognizing  the  step  of  his  master,  hastened  to 
meet  him,  which  cut  short  the  conversation. 

But  Raoul  was  launched  upon  the  sea  of  interroga- 
tories, and  did  not  stop.  Taking  both  hands  of  the  count, 
with  warm  but  respectful  tenderness,  “ How  is  it,  Mom 
sieur,”  said  he,  “ that  you  started  out  upon  a dangerous 
journey  without  bidding  me  adieu,  without  commanding 
the  aid  of  my  sword,  — of  myself,  who  ought  to  be  your 
support,  now  that  I have  the  strength,  — of  myself,  whom 
you  have  brought  up  to  be  a man  ? Ah,  Monsieur,  why 
would  you  expose  me  to  the  cruel  hazard  of  never  seeing 
you  again  ? ” 

“ Who  told  you,  Raoul,  that  my  journey  was  a danger- 
ous one  ? ” replied  the  count,  placing  his  cloak  and  hat  in 
the  hands  of  Grimaud,  who  had  unbuckled  his  sword. 

“I,”  said  Grimaud. 

“ And  why  did  you  do  so  V9  said  Athos,  sternly. 

Grimaud  was  embarrassed.  Raoul  came  to  his  assist- 
ance by  answering  for  him  : “ It  is  natural,  Monsieur, 
that  our  good  Grimaud  should  tell  me  the  truth  in  what 
concerns  you.  By  whom  should  you  be  loved  and  sup- 
ported, if  not  by  me  1 99 

Athos  did  not  reply.  He  made  a friendly  motion  to 
Grimaud,  which  sent  him  out  of  the  room  ; he  then  seated 
himself  in  an  armchair,  while  Raoul  remained  standing 
before  him. 


A PASSION. 


19 


“ But  is  it  true/’  continued  Raoul,  “ that  your  voyage 
was  an  expedition,  and  that  fire  and  steel  threatened  you '!  ” 
“ Say  no  more  about  that,  Viscount,”  said  Athos,  mildly. 
“ I set  out  hastily,  it  is  true,  but  the  service  of  King 
Charles  II.  required  a prompt  departure.  As  to  your 
solicitude,  I thank  you  for  it,  and  I know  that  I can  de- 
pend upon  you.  You  have  not  wanted  for  anything, 
Viscount,  in  my  absence,  have  you  rl  ” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  thank  you.” 

“ I left  orders  with  Blaisois  to  pay  you  a hundred  pis- 
toles, if  you  should  stand  in  need  of  money.” 

“ Monsieur,  I have  not  seen  Blaisois.” 

“ You  have  been  without  money,  then  1 ” 

“ Monsieur,  I had  thirty  pistoles  left  from  the  sale  of 
the  horses  I took  in  my  last  campaign,  and  Monsieur 
the  Prince  had  the  kindness  to  let  me  win  two  hundred 
pistoles  at  play  with  him  three  months  ago.” 

“ Do  you  play  1 I don’t  like  that,  Raoul.” 

“ I never  play,  Monsieur ; it  was  Monsieur  the  Prince 
who  ordered  me  to  hold  his  cards  at  Chantilly,  — one 
night  when  a courier  came  to  him  from  the  king.  I won 
the  stakes,  and  Monsieur  the  Prince  commanded  me  to 
keep  them.” 

“Is  that  a practice  in  the  household,  Raoul1?”  asked 
Athos,  with  a frown. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur ; every  week  Monsieur  the  Prince  af- 
fords, upon  one  occasion  or  another,  a similar  advantage 
to  one  of  his  gentlemen.  There  are  fifty  gentlemen  in 
his  Highness’s  household ; it  was  my  turn  that  time.” 

“ Very  well ! You  went  into  Spain,  then*?” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  I made  a very  delightful  and  inter 
esting  journey.” 

“ You  have  been  back  a month,  have  you  notl* 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 


20 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“And  in  the  course  of  that  month  what  have  you 
done  ? ” 

“ My  duties,  Monsieur.” 

“ Have  you  not  been  home  to  La  Fere  V9 
Raoul  colored.  Athos  looked  at  him  calmly  and  fixedly. 
“ You  would  be  wrong  not  to  believe  me,”  said  Raoul. 
“ I feel  that  I colored,  and  in  spite  of  myself.  The  ques- 
tion you  did  me  the  honor  to  ask  is  of  a nature  to  cause 
me  much  emotion.  I color,  then,  because  I am  agitated, 
not  because  I meditate  a falsehood.” 

“ I know,  Raoul,  that  you  never  lie.” 

“ No,  Monsieur.” 

“Besides,  my  young  friend,  you  would  be  wrong; 
what  I wanted  to  say  — ” 

“I  know  quite  well,  Monsieur.  You  would  ask  me  if 
I have  not  been  to  Bloisl  ” 

“ Exactly  so.” 

“ I have  not  been  there ; I have  not  even  seen  the 
person  of  whom  you  would  speak  to  me.” 

The  voice  of  Raoul  trembled  as  he  pronounced  these 
words.  Athos,  a sovereign  judge  in  all  matters  of  deli- 
cacy, immediately  added,  “ Raoul,  you  answer  as  if  dis- 
tressed ; you  are  unhappy.” 

“Very,  Monsieur;  you  have  forbidden  me  to  go  to 
Blois,  or  to  see  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  again.’’ 
Here  the  young  man  stopped.  That  dear  name,  so 
delightful  to  pronounce,  made  his  heart  bleed,  although 
so  sweet  upon  his  lips. 

“ And  I have  acted  rightly,  Raoul,”  Athos  hastened  to 
reply.  “ I am  neither  an  unjust  nor  a barbarous  father. 
I respect  true  love  ; but  I look  forward  for  you  to  a 
future,  — an  immense  future.  A new  reign  is  about  to 
dawn  brightly  upon  us ; war  calls  upon  a young  king  full 
of  chivalric  spirit.  What  is  wanting  to  assist  this  heroic 


A PASSION. 


21 


ardor  is  a battalion  of  young  and  free  lieutenants  who 
would  rush  to  the  fight  with  enthusiasm,  and  fall  crying, 
‘ Vive  le  Roi  ! 9 instead  of  ‘ Adieu,  my  dear  wife  ! ’ You 
know  what  I mean,  Raoul.  However  brutal  my  reason- 
ing may  appear  to  be,  I conjure  you,  then,  to  believe  me, 
and  to  turn  away  your  thoughts  from  those  early  days  of 
youth  in  which  you  took  up  this  habit  of  love,  — days 
of  effeminate  carelessness,  which  soften  the  heart  and 
render  it  incapable  of  containing  those  strong,  bitter 
draughts  called  glory  and  adversity.  Therefore,  Raoul, 
I repeat  to  you,  you  should  see  in  my  counsel  only  the 
desire  of  being  useful  to  you,  only  the  ambition  of  seeing 
you  prosper.  I believe  you  capable  of  becoming  a re- 
markable man.  March  alone,  and  you  will  march  better 
and  more  quickly.” 

“ You  have  commanded,  Monsieur,”  replied  Raoul,  “ and 
I obey.” 

“ Commanded  ! ” cried  Athos.  “ Is  it  thus  you  reply 
to  me  1 I have  commanded  you  ! Oh  ! you  distort  my 
words  as  you  misconceive  my  intentions.  I did  not 
command  you  ; I entreated  you.” 

“ No,  Monsieur,  you  have  commanded,”  said  Raoul, 
persistently.  “ But  had  you  only  entreated  me,  your 
entreaty  is  still  more  effective  than  your  order.  I have 
not  seen  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  again.” 

“But  you  are  unhappy,  you  are  unhappy!”  insisted 
Athos. 

Raoul  made  no  reply. 

“ I find  you  pale ; I find  you  sad.  The  sentiment  is 
strong,  then'?” 

“ It  is  a passion,”  replied  Raoul. 

“ No  ; a habit.” 

“ Monsieur,  you  know  that  I have  travelled  much,  that 
I have  passed  two  years  far  from  her.  Any  habit  would 


22 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


be  broken  up  by  an  absence  of  two  years,  I believe ; 
whereas  on  my  return  I loved,  not  more,  — that  was  im- 
possible,— but  as  much.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere 
is  for  me  the  mate  above  all  others ; but  you  are  for  me 
a god  upon  earth,  — to  you  I sacrifice  everything.” 

“ You  are  wrong,”  said  Athos ; “ I have  no  longer  any 
right  over  you.  Age  has  emancipated  you ; you  no  lon- 
ger even  stand  in  need  of  my  consent.  Besides,  I will 
not  refuse  my  consent  after  what  you  have  told  me. 
Marry  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  if  you  like.” 

Baoul  started;  but  suddenly,  “You  are  too  good, 
Monsieur,”  said  he,  “and  your  concession  excites  my 
warmest  gratitude  ; but  T will  not  accept  it.” 

“ Then  you  now  refuse  % ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ I will  not  oppose  you  in  anything,  Raoul.” 

“ But  you  have  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart  an  opinion 
against  this  marriage ; you  have  not  chosen  it  for  me.” 

“ That  is  true.” 

“ That  is  sufficient  to  make  me  cease  to  persist ; I will 
wait.” 

“ Take  care,  Raoul  ! what  you  are  now  saying  is  serious.” 
“ I know  it  is,  Monsieur.  As  I said,  I will  wait.” 

“ Until  I die  ? ” said  Athos,  much  agitated. 

“Oh,  Monsieur,”  cried  Raoul,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
“ is  it  possible  that  you  should  wound  my  heart  thus  1 
I have  never  given  you  cause  of  complaint ! ” 

“Dear  boy,  that  is  true,”  murmured  Athos,  pressing 
his  lips  violently  together  to  suppress  the  emotion  of 
which  he  was  no  longer  master.  “ No,  I will  no  longer 
afflict  you  ; only  I do  not  comprehend  what  you  mean  by 
waiting.  Will  you  wait  till  you  love  no  longer  ? ” 

“Ah!  for  that!  No,  Monsieur;  I will  wait  till  you 
change  your  opinion.” 


A PASSION. 


23 


“ I should  like  to  put  the  matter  to  a test,  Raoul ; I 
should  like  to  see  if  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  will 
wait  as  you  do.” 

“ I hope  so,  Monsieur/7 

“ But  take  care,  Raoul!  if  she  did  not  wait?  Ah! 
you  are  so  young,  so  confiding,  so  loyal ! Women  are 
changeable.7  7 

“You  have  never  spoken  ill  to  me  of  women,  Mon- 
sieur; you  have  never  had  to  complain  of  them.  Why 
should  you  doubt  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  ? 77 

“ That  is  true,77  said  Athos,  lowering  his  eyes.  “ I have 
never  spoken  ill  to  you  of  women;  I have  never  had  to 
complain  of  them.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  never 
caused  me  a suspicion  ; but  when  we  are  looking  forward, 
we  consider  exceptions,  even  improbabilities  ! If,  I say, 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  should  not  wait  for  you  ? 77 

“ How  could  that  be,  Monsieur  ? 77 

“ If  she  turned  her  eyes  another  way?77 

“ If  she  looked  favorably  upon  another  man,  — do  you 
mean  that,  Monsieur? 77  said  Raoul,  pale  with  agony. 

“ Exactly.77 

“Well,  Monsieur,  I would  kill  that  man,77  said  Raoul, 
simply,  “ and  all  the  men  whom  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere  should  choose,  until  one  of  them  had  killed  me, 
or  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  had  restored  me  her 
heart.77 

Athos  started.  “ I thought,77  resumed  he,  in  a hollow 
voice,  “that  you  called  me  just  now  your  god,  your  law, 
in  this  world.77 

“Oh!”  said  Raoul,  trembling,  “you  would  forbid  me 
the  duel?77 

“ If  I forbade  it,  Raoul  ? 77 

“You  would  forbid  me  to  hope,  Monsieur;  consequently 
you  would  not  forbid  me  to  die.77 


24 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Athos  raised  his  eyes  towards  the  viscount.  He  had 
pronounced  these  words  with  the  most  melancholy  in- 
flection, accompanied  by  the  most  melancholy  look. 
“Enough,”  said  Athos,  after  a long  silence,  “enough  of 
this  subject,  upon  which  we  both  go  too  far.  Live  from 
day  to  day,  Kaoul ; perform  your  duties,  love  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere;  in  a word,  act  like  a man,  since  you  have 
attained  the  age  of  a man  ; only  do  not  forget  that  I love 
you  tenderly,  and  that  you  profess  to  love  me.” 

“ Ah,  Monsieur  the  Count ! ” cried  Raoul,  pressing  the 
hand  of  Athos  to  his  heart. 

“ Enough,  dear  boy  ! leave  me  ; I want  rest.  By  the 
way,  M.  d’Artagnan  has  returned  from  England  with  me  ; 
you  owe  him  a visit.” 

“ I will  go  and  pay  it,  Monsieur,  with  great  pleasure ; I 
love  M.  d’Artagnan  exceedingly.” 

“You  are  right  in  doing  so  ; he  is  a worthy  man  and  a 
brave  cavalier.” 

“ Who  loves  you  dearly,”  said  Raoul. 

“ I am  sure  of  that.  Do  you  know  his  address  ” 

“ At  the  Louvre,  I suppose,  at  the  Palais-Royal,  or  wher- 
ever the  king  is.  Does  he  not  command  the  Musketeers  1 ” 
“ No  ; at  present  M.  d’Artagnan  is  absent  on  leave  ; 
he  is  resting  a little.  Do  not,  therefore,  seek  him  at  the 
posts  of  his  service.  You  will  hear  of  him  at  the  house 
of  a certain  Planchet.” 

“ His  former  lackey  1 ” 

“ Exactly ; turned  grocer.” 

“ I know  ; Rue  des  Lombards  'l  ” 

“ Something  like  that,  or  Rue  des  Arcis.” 

“ I will  find  it,  Monsieur,  — I will  find  it.” 

“ You  will  say  a thousand  kind  things  to  him  for  me, 
and  invite  him  to  dine  with  me  before  I set  out  for  La 
Eere.” 


A PASSION. 


25 


“ Yes,  Monsieur. ” 

“ Good-night,  Eaoul  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,  I see  you  wear  an  order  I never  saw  you 
wear  before  ; accept  my  compliments.” 

“ The  Fleece  ! — that  is  true.  A plaything,  my  boy, 
which  no  longer  amuses  even  an  old  child  like  myself 
Good-night,  Raoul/’ 


26 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  IY. 

d’artagnan’s  lesson. 

Raoul  did  not  find  D’Artagnan  the  next  day,  as  he  had 
hoped.  He  only  met  with  Planchet,  whose  joy  was  great 
at  seeing  the  young  man  again,  and  who  contrived  to  pay 
him  two  or  three  little  soldierly  compliments,  savoring 
very  little  of  the  grocer’s  shop.  But  as  Raoul  was  return- 
ing from  Vincennes  the  next  day,  at  the  head  of  fifty 
dragoons  confided  to  him  by  the  prince,  he  perceived,  in 
the  Place  Baudoyer,  a man  with  his  nose  in  the  air,  exam- 
ining a house,  as  we  examine  a horse  we  have  a fancy  to 
buy.  This  man,  dressed  in  citizen  costume  buttoned  up 
like  a military  doublet,  a very  small  hat  on  his  head,  and 
a long  shagreen-mounted  sword  by  his  side,  turned  his 
head  as  soon  us  he  heard  the  step  of  the  horses,  and  left 
off  looking  at  the  house  to  look  at  the  dragoons.  This 
was  plainly  M.  d’Artagnan,  — D’Artagnan  on  foot,  D’Ar- 
tagnan  with  his  hands  behind  him,  passing  a little  review 
upon  the  dragoons,  after  having  reviewed  the  buildings. 
Not  a man,  not  a tag,  not  a horse’s  hoof  escaped  his 
inspection. 

Raoul  rode  at  the  side  of  his  troop.  D’Artagnan  per- 
ceived him  the  last.  “ Eh  ! ” said  he,  “ eh  ! mordioux  ! ” 

“ I was  not  mistaken  ! ” cried  Raoul,  urging  his  horse 
towards  him. 

“ Mistaken  ] No  ! Good-day  to  you,”  replied  the  ex- 
musketeer ; while  Raoul  eagerly  shook  the  hand  of  his 
old  friend.  “ Take  care,  Raoul  ! ” said  D’Artagnan.  “ The 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  LESSON. 


27 


second  horse  of  the  fifth  rank  will  lose  a shoe  before  he 
gets  to  the  Pont  Marie ; he  has  only  two  nails  left  in  his 
off  fore-foot.  ” 

“ Wait  a minute ; I will  come  back/’  said  Eaoul. 

“ Can  you  leave  your  detachment  h ” 

“ The  cornet  is  there  to  take  my  place.” 

“ Then  you  will  come  and  dine  with  me  ? 99 
“Most  willingly,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ Be  quick,  then ; leave  your  horse,  or  make  them  give 
me  one.” 

“ I prefer  going  back  on  foot  with  you.” 

Raoul  hastened  to  give  notice  to  the  cornet,  who  took 
his  place  ; he  then  dismounted,  gave  his  horse  to  one  of 
the  dragoons,  and  with  great  delight  seized  the  arm  of 
M.  d’Artagnan,  who  had  watched  him,  during  all  these 
evolutions,  with  the  satisfaction  of  a connoisseur. 

“ What  ! do  you  come  from  Vincennes  1 ” said  he,  first 
of  all. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“ And  the  cardinal  % ” 

“ Is  very  ill ; it  is  even  reported  he  is  dead.” 

“ Are  you  on  good  terms  with  M.  Fouquet  ] ” asked 
D’Artagnan,  wTith  a disdainful  movement  of  the  shoulders, 
proving  that  the  death  of  Mazarin  did  not  affect  him 
beyond  measure. 

“ With  M.  Fouquet  ? ” said  Raoul ; “ I do  not  know 
him.” 

“ So  much  the  worse  ! so  much  the  worse  ! for  a new 
king  always  seeks  to  find  tools.” 

“ Oh  ! the  king  means  no  harm,”  replied  the  young  man. 
“ I am  not  speaking  about  the  crown,”  cried  D’Artagnan, 
“ but  about  the  king.  The  king,  — that  is  M.  Fouquet, 
now  that  the  cardinal  is  dead.  You  must  contrive  to  stand 
well  with  M.  Fouquet,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  moulder  away 


28 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


all  your  life  as  I have  mouldered.  It  is  true  you  have, 
fortunately,  other  protectors.” 

u Monsieur  the  Prince,  for  instance.” 

“ Worn  out  ! worn  out,  my  friend  ! ” 

“ M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere.” 

“ Athos  ! Oh!  that’s  different;  yes,  Athos — and  if 
you  have  any  wish  to  make  your  way  in  England,  you 
cannot  apply  to  a better  person.  I can  even  say,  without 
too  much  vanity,  that  I myself  have  some  credit  at  the 
court  of  Charles  II.  There  is  a king,  — God  speed 
him ! ” 

“ Ah  ! ” cried  Raoul,  with  the  artless  curiosity  of  well- 
born young  people  while  listening  to  experience  and  worth. 

“ Yes  ; a king  who  amuses  himself,  it  is  true,  but  who 
has  had  a sword  in  his  hand,  and  can  appreciate  useful 
men.  Athos  is  on  good  terms  with  Charles  II.  Take 
service  there,  and  leave  these  scoundrels  of  contractors 
and  farmers-general,  who  steal  as  well  with  French  hands 
as  others  have  stolen  with  Italian  hands  ; leave  the  little 
snivelling  king,  who  is  going  to  give  us  another  reign  of 
Francis  II.  Do  you  know  anything  of  history,  Raoul  % ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“ Do  you  know,  then,  that  Francis  II.  always  had  the 
earache  ] ” 

“ No,  I did  not  know  that.” 

“ That  Charles  IV.  always  had  the  headache  V} 

“ Indeed  ! ” 

“ And  Henry  III.  always  the  stomach-ache  ? ” 

Raoul  began  to  laugh. 

“ Well,  my  dear  friend,  Louis  XIV.  always  has  the 
heart-ache.  It  is  deplorable  to  see  a king  sighing  from 
morning  till  night,  without  saying  once  in  the  course  of 
the  day,  ‘ Ventre-saint-gris  ! } ‘ Corboeuf ! 9 or  anything  to 
rouse  one.” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  LESSON. 


29 


“ Was  that  the  reason  why  you  left  the  service, 
Monsieur  the  Chevalier  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But  you  yourself,  M.  d’Artagnan,  are  throwing  the 
handle  after  the  hatchet ; you  will  never  make  your 
fortune.” 

“ Who  h I ? ” replied  D’Artagnan,  in  a careless  tone. 
“I  am  settled;  I had  some  family  property.” 

Raoul  looked  at  him.  The  poverty  of  D’Artagnan 
was  proverbial.  A Gascon,  he  exceeded  in  ill-luck  all 
the  gasconnades  of  France  and  Navarre;  Raoul  had  a 
hundred  times  heard  Job  and  D’Artagnan  mentioned 
together,  like  the  twins  Romulus  and  Remus.  D’Ar- 
tagnan caught  Raoul’s  look  of  astonishment. 

“ And  has  not  your  father  told  you  I have  been  in 
England  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“ And  that  I had  there  met  with  a very  lucky  chance  ? ” 
“No,  Monsieur,  I did  not  know  that.” 

“Yes;  a very  worthy  friend  of  mine,  a great  noble- 
man, the  Viceroy  of  Scotland  and  Ireland,  has  endowed 
me  with  an  inheritance.” 

“ An  inheritance  ? ” 

“ And  a good  one  too.” 

“ Then  you  are  rich ! Receive  my  sincere  congratulation  ” 
“ Thank  you  ! Look ! that  is  my  house.” 

“ Place  de  Greve  1 ” 

“ Yes ; you  don’t  like  this  quarter  ] ” 

“Quite  the  contrary;  the  look-out  on  the  water  is 
pleasant.  Oh,  what  a pretty  old  house  ! ” 

“ The  sign  of  Notre  Dame  ; it  is  an  old  pot-house  which 
I have  transformed  into  a private  house  in  two  days.” 

“ But  the  pot-house  is  still  open  h ” 

“ Yes.” 


30 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ And  where  do  you  lodge,  then  ? ” 

“ I ? I lodge  with  Planchet.” 

“ You  said  just  now,  ‘ There  is  my  house.’  ” 

“ I said  so,  because,  in  fact,  it  is  my  house.  I have 
bought  it.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Raoul. 

“ At  ten  years’  purchase,  my  dear  Raoul ; a superb 
affair.  I bought  the  house  for  thirty  thousand  livres. 
It  has  a garden  which  opens  to  the  Rue  de  la  Mortillerie  ; 
the  pot-house  lets  for  a thousand  livres,  together  with 
the  first  story ; the  garret,  or  second  floor,  for  five 
hundred  livres.” 

“ Five  hundred  livres  for  a garret  h Why,  that  is  not 
habitable.” 

“ Therefore  no  one  does  inhabit  it ; only,  you  see  this 
garret  has  two  windows  which  look  out  upon  the  Place.” 
“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Well,  then,  every  time  anybody  is  broken  on  the 
wheel,  or  hung,  quartered,  or  burnt,  those  two  windows 
are  let  for  as  high  as  twenty  pistoles.” 

“Oh  ! ” said  Raoul,  with  horror. 

“It  is  disgusting,  is  it  not'? ’’said  D’Artagnan.  “It 
is  disgusting,  but  so  it  is.  These  Parisian  loungers  are 
sometimes  real  anthropophagi.  I cannot  conceive  how 
men,  Christians,  can  enjoy  such  spectacles. 

“ That  is  true.” 

“ As  for  myself,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  “ if  I inhabited 
that  house,  I would  shut  it  up  to  the  very  keyholes  on 
days  of  execution;  but  I do  not  inhabit  it.” 

“And  you  let  the  garret  for  five  hundred  livres ] ” 

“ To  the  ferocious  innkeeper,  who  sub-lets  it.  I said, 
then,  fifteen  hundred  livres.” 

“The  natural  interest  of  money,”  said  Raoul,  “at  five 
per  cent.” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  LESSON. 


3i 


“ Exactly  so.  I then  have  left  the  body  of  the  house 
at  the  back,  — shops,  lodgings,  and  cellars,  inundated  every 
winter, — two  hundred  livres ; and  the  garden,  which  is 
very  fine,  well  planted,  well  shaded  under  the  walls  and 
the  portal  of  St.  Gervais  and  St.  Protais,  thirteen  hundred 
livres.” 

“ Thirteen  hundred  livres  ! why,  that  is  royal ! ” 

“ This  is  the  history  of  it.  I strongly  suspect  some 
canon  of  the  parish, — these  canons  are  all  as  rich  as 
Croesus,  — I suspect  some  canon  of  having  hired  the 
garden  to  take  his  pleasure  in.  The  tenant  has  given 
the  name  of  M.  Godard.  That  is  either  a false  name  or 
a real  name  : if  true,  he  is  a canon  ; if  false,  he  is  some 
unknown.  But  of  what  consequence  is  it  to  me]  He 
always  pays  in  advance.  I had  also  an  idea  just  now, 
when  I met  you,  of  buying  a house  in  the  Place  Baudoyer, 
the  back  premises  of  which  join  my  garden,  and  would 
make  a magnificent  property.  Your  dragoons  interrupted 
my  calculations.  But  come,  let  us  take  the  Rue  de  la 
Vannerie;  that  will  lead  us  straight  to  Master  Planchet’s.” 
D’Artagnan  mended  his  pace,  and  conducted  Raoul  to 
Planchet’s  dwelling,  a chamber  of  which  the  grocer  had 
given  up  to  his  old  master.  Planchet  was  out,  but  the 
dinner  was  ready.  There  was  a remnant  of  military  regu- 
larity and  punctuality  preserved  in  the  grocer’s  house- 
hold. D’Artagnan  returned  to  the  subject  of  Raoul’s 
future. 

“ Your  father  keeps  you  rather  strictly  ! ” said  he. 

“ Justly,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“Oh,  yes,  I know  Athos  is  just;  but  close,  perhaps!” 

“ A royal  hand,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ Well,  never  want,  my  boy ! If  ever  you  stand  in 
need  of  a few  pistoles,  the  old  musketeer  is  at  hand.” 

“ My  dear  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” 


32 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Do  you  play  a little  ? ” 

“ Never.” 

“ Successful  with  the  ladies,  then  ? You  blush.  Oh, 
my  little  Aramis  ! That,  my  dear  friend,  costs  still 
more  than  play.  It  is  true  we  fight  when  we  lose ; that 
is  a compensation.  Bah  ! the  little  sniveller  of  a king 
makes  men  who  win  pay  the  penalty  for  it.  What  a 
reign ! my  poor  Raoul,  what  a reign  ! When  I think 
that  in  my  time  the  Musketeers  were  besieged  in  their 
houses,  like  Hector  and  Priam  in  the  city  of  Troy ; and 
then  the  women  wept,  and  then  the  walls  laughed,  and 
then  five  hundred  beggarly  fellows  clapped  their  hands, 
and  cried,  ‘ Kill ! kill  ! ’ when  not  one  musketeer  was 
hurt ! Mordioux  ! you  will  never  see  anything  like  that.” 
“ You  are  very  hard  upon  the  king,  my  dear  M. 
d’Artagnan ; and  yet  you  scarcely  know  him.*’ 

“ I ! Listen,  Raoul.  Day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  — 
take  note  of  my  words,  — I will  predict  what  he  will  do. 
The  cardinal  being  dead,  he  will  weep  : very  well,  that  is 
the  least  silly  thing  he  will  do,  particularly  if  he  does  not 
shed  a tear.” 

“ And  then  ? ” 

“ Why,  then  he  will  get  M.  Fouquet  to  allow  him  a 
pension,  and  will  go  and  compose  verses  at  Fontainebleau 
upon  some  Mancini  or  other,  whose  eyes  the  queen  will 
scratch  out.  She  is  a Spaniard,  you  see,  this  queen  of 
ours  ; and  she  has,  as  a mother-in-law,  Madame  Anne  of 
Austria.  I know  something  of  the  Spaniards  of  the  house 
of  Austria.” 

“ And  next  1 ” 

“ Well,  after  having  torn  off  the  silver  tags  from  the 
uniforms  of  his  Swiss,  because  embroidery  is  too  expen- 
sive, he  will  dismount  the  Musketeers,  because  the  oats 
and  hay  of  a horse  cost  five  sols  a day.” 


D’ARTAGAN’S  LESSON. 


33 


“ Oh  ! do  not  say  that.” 

“ Of  what  consequence  is  it  to  me  1 I am  no  longer  a 
musketeer,  am  I ] Let  them  be  on  horseback  ; let  them 
be  on  foot ; let  them  carry  a larding-needie,  a spit,  a 
sword,  or  nothing,  — what  is  it  to  me  ? ” 

“ My  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,  I beseech  you,  say  no  more 
ill  to  me  of  the  king.  I am  almost  in  his  service,  and  my 
father  would  be  very  angry  with  me  for  having  heard 
even  from  your  mouth  words  offensive  to  his  Majesty.” 

“ Your  father,  eh  ! He  is  a knight  in  every  bad  cause. 
Yes,  your  father  is  a brave  man,  — is  a Caesar,  in  fact,  — 
but  a man  without  perception.” 

“Now,  my  dear  Chevalier,”  exclaimed  Raoul,  laugh- 
ing, “you  are  going  to  speak  ill  of  my  father,  of  him 
you  call  the  great  Athos.  You  are  in  a wicked  vein 
to-day ; riches  make  you  as  sour  as  poverty  makes  other 
people.” 

“ Pardieu  ! you  are  right.  I am  a rascal  and  in  my 
dotage  ; I am  an  unhappy  wretch  grown  old,  — a forage- 
cord  untwisted,  a pierced  cuirass,  a boot  without  a sole,  a 
spur  without  a rowel ; but  do  me  the  pleasure  to  say  one 
thing  for  me.” 

“ What  is  that,  my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan  1 ” 

“ Say  this  to  me  : ‘ Mazarin  was  a pitiful  wretch/  ” 
“Perhaps  he  is  dead.” 

“ More  the  reason,  — I say  was  ; if  I did  not  hope  that 
he  was  dead,  I would  entreat  you  to  say,  4 Mazarin  is 
a pitiful  wretch.’  Come  say  so,  say  so,  for  the  love  of 
me.” 

“Well,  I will.” 

“ Say  it ! ” 

“ Mazarin  was  a pitiful  wretch,”  said  Raoul,  smiling  at 
the  musketeer,  who  roared  with  laughter  as  in  his  best 
days. 

VOL.  II.  — 3 


34 


* THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ A moment ! ” said  the  latter.  “You  have  spoken  my 
first  proposition  ; here  is  the  conclusion.  Repeat,  Raoul, 
repeat : ‘ But  I should  feel  regret  for  Mazarin.’  ” 

“ Chevalier  ! ” 

“You  will  not  say  it  ] Well,  then,  I will  say  it  twice 
for  you  : c But  you  would  feel  regret  for  Mazarin ” 

And  they  were  still  laughing  and  discussing  this  draft- 
ing a profession  of  principles,  when  one  of  the  grocer’s 
boys  entered.  “ A letter,  Monsieur,  said  he,  “ for  M. 
d’Artagnan.” 

“ Thank  you  ; give  it  me,”  cried  the  musketeer. 

“ The  handwriting  of  Monsieur  the  Count,”  said  Raoul. 

“Yes,  yes  and  D’Artagnan  broke  the  seal.  It  was 
from  Athos. 

“ Dear  Friend,  — A person  has  just  been  here  to  beg  me  to 
seek  for  you  by  the  wish  of  the  king.” 

“ Seek  me  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  letting  the  paper  fall 
upon  the  table.  Raoul  picked  it  up,  and  continued  to 
read  aloud. 

“ Make  haste.  His  Majesty  is  very  anxious  to  speak  to  you, 
and  expects  you  at  the  Louvre.” 

“ Expects  me  ! ” again  repeated  the  musketeer. 

“ He  ! he ! ” laughed  Raoul. 

“ Oh,  oh  ! ” replied  D’Artagnan.  “ What  the  devil  can 
this  mean]” 


THE  KING. 


35 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  KING. 

The  first  feeling  of  surprise  over,  D’Artagnan  re-perused 
Athos’  note.  “ It  is  strange/’  said  he,  “ that  the  king 
should  send  for  me.” 

“ Why  soV9  said  Raoul;  “ do  you  not  think,  Monsieur, 
that  the  king  must  wish  such  a servant  as  you  back 
again  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  the  officer,  laughing  with  all  his 
might;  “you  are  flattering  me,  Master  Raoul.  If  the 
king  had  wanted  me  he  would  not  have  let  me  leave 
him.  No,  no ; I see  in  it  something  better,  or  worse,  if 
you  like.’** 

“ Worse  ! What  can  that  be,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier  V9 

“ You  are  young,  you  are  sanguine,  you  are  admirable. 
Oh,  how  I should  like  to  be  as  you  are  ! To  be  but 
twenty-four,  with  an  unfurrowed  brow,  under  which  the 
brain  is  void  of  everything  but  woman,  love,  and  good  in- 
tentions ! Oh,  Raoul,  as  long  as  you  have  not  received 
the  smile  of  kings  and  the  confidence  of  queens  ; as  long 
as  you  have  not  had  two  cardinals  killed  under  you,  the 
one  a tiger,  the  other  a fox ; as  long  as  you  have  not  — 
But  what  is  the  good  of  all  this  trifling  1 We  must  part, 
Raoul.” 

“ With  what  a serious  face  you  say  that ! ” 

“ Ah  ! but  the  occasion  is  worthy  of  it.  Listen  to  me  ! 
I have  a very  good  recommendation  to  make  you.” 

“ I am  all  attention,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 


36 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ You  will  go  and  inform  your  father  of  my  departure.” 
“ Your  departure  ? ” 

“ Pardieu  ! You  will  tell  him  that  I have  gone  to 
England,  and  that  I am  living  in  my  little  country- 
house.” 

“ To  England,  you  ! — And  the  king’s  orders  1 ” 

“ You  get  more  and  more  silly  ; do  you  imagine  that  I 
am  going  in  that  way  to  the  Louvre,  to  place  myself  at 
the  disposal  of  that  little  crowned  wolf-cub  V 9 

“The  king  a wolf-cub?  Why,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier, 
you  are  mad  ! ” 

“ On  the  contrary,  I was  never  so  much  otherwise. 
You  do  not  know  what  he  wants  to  do  with  me,  this 
worthy  son  of  Louis  the  Just.  But,  mordioux  ! that  is 
policy.  He  wishes  to  ensconce  me  snugly  in  the  Bastille, 
purely  and  simply ; don’t  you  see  ? ” 

“ What  for  ? ” cried  Raoul,  terrified  at  what  he  heard. 

“ On  account  of  what  I told  him  one  day  at  Blois.  I 
was  heated  ; he  remembers  it.” 

“ You  told  him  what  ? ” 

“ That  he  was  mean,  cowardly,  and  silly.” 

“ Good  God ! ” cried  Raoul,  “ is  it  possible  that  such 
words  should  have  issued  from  your  mouth  ? ” 

“ Perhaps  I don’t  give  the  letter  of  my  discourse,  but  I 
give  the  sense  of  it.” 

“ But  did  not  the  king  have  you  arrested  immediately  V* 
“ By  whom  ? It  was  I who  commanded  the  Muske- 
teers; he  must  have  commanded  me  to  convey  myself  to 
prison.  I would  never  have  consented ; I would  have  re- 
sisted myself.  And  then  I went  into  England  — no  more 
D’Artagnan.  Now,  the  cardinal  is  dead,  or  nearly  so  ; 
they  learn  that  I am  in  Paris,  and  they  lay  their  hands 
on  me.” 

“ The  cardinal  was,  then,  your  protector  ? ” 


THE  KING. 


37 


“ The  cardinal  knew  me ; he  knew  certain  peculiari- 
ties of  mine.  I also  knew  certain  of  his  : we  entertained 
for  each  other  a mutual  appreciation.  And  then,  on  sur- 
rendering his  soul  to  the  devil,  he  would  recommend  Anne 
of  Austria  to  put  me  in  a safe  place.  Go,  then,  and  find 
your  father;  relate  the  fact  to  him,  — and  adieu  ! ” 

“ My  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,”  said  Raoul,  very  much  agi- 
tated, after  having  looked  out  of  the  window,  “ you  cannot 
escape ! ” 

“ Why  not  ? ” 

“ Because  there  is  below  an  officer  of  the  Swiss  Guards 
waiting  for  you.” 

“ Well ! ” 

“ Well,  he  will  arrest  you.” 

D’Artagnan  broke  into  an  Homeric  laugh. 

“ Oh  ! I know  very  well  that  you  will  resist,  that  you 
will  fight  even;  I know  very  well  that  you  will  come  off 
victor.  But  that  amounts  to  rebellion  ; and  you  are  an 
officer  yourself,  knowing  what  discipline  is.” 

“ Devil  of  a boy!  how  noble,  how  logical,  that  is!” 
grumbled  D’Artagnan. 

“ You  agree  with  me,  don’t  you  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Instead  of  passing  into  the  street,  where  that  oaf 
is  waiting  for  me,  I will  slip  quietly  out  at  the  back.  I 
have  a horse  in  the  stable,  and  a good  one.  I will  ride 
him  to  death,  — my  means  permit  me  to  do  so,  — and  by 
killing  one  horse  after  another,  I shall  arrive  at  Boulogne 
in  eleven  hours ; I know  the  road.  Tell  your  father 
only  one  thing.” 

“ What  is  that  1 ” 

“ This,  — • that  what  he  knows  about  is  at  Planchet’s 
house,  except  a fifth  ; and  that  — ” 

“ But,  my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,  take  care  ! If  you  run 
away,  two  things  will  be  said  of  you.” 


38 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


‘ 1 What  are  they,  my  dear  friend?” 

“ The  first,  that  you  were  afraid.” 

“ Ah  ! and  who  will  dare  to  say  that  ? ” 

“ The  king,  first  of  all.” 

“Well ! but  — he  will  tell  the  truth.  I am  afraid.” 

“ The  second,  that  you  felt  yourself  guilty.” 

“ Guilty  of  what?” 

“ Why,  of  the  crimes  they  wish  to  impute  to  you.” 

“ That  is  true  again.  So,  then,  you  advise  me  to  go 
and  get  myself  put  in  the  Bastille  ? ” 

“ M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  would  advise  you  just  as  I do.” 
“ Pardieu  ! I know  he  would,”  said  D’Artagnan,  thought- 
fully. “ You  are  right.  I shall  not  escape.  But  if  they 
cast  me  into  the  Bastille  ? ” 

“ We  will  get  you  out  again,”  said  Raoul,  with  a calm 
and  quiet  air. 

“ Mordioux ! You  said  that  after  a brave  fashion, 
Raoul,”  said  D’Artagnan,  seizing  his  hand  ; “ that  savors 
of  Athos,  truly.  Well,  I will  go,  then.  Do  not  forget  my 
last  word.” 

“ Except  a fifth,”  said  Raoul. 

“ Yes  ; you  are  a fine  boy,  and  I want  you  to  add  one 
thing  to  that  last  word.” 

“Speak,  Chevalier!” 

“ It  is  that  if  you  cannot  get  me  out  of  the  Bastille, 
and  I die  there,  — oh  ! that  is  a matter  of  course,  and  I 
shall  be  a detestable  prisoner;  I,  who  have  been  a passa- 
ble man,  — in  that  case,  I give  three  fifths  to  you,  and 
the  fourth  to  your  father.” 

“ Chevalier  ! ” 

“ If  you  want  to  have  some  masses  said  for  me,  you  are 
welcome.” 

When  he  had  done  speaking,  D’Artagnan  took  down 
his  belt  from  the  hook,  girded  on  his  sword,  took  a hat 


THE  KING. 


39 


with  a fresh  feather,  and  held  his  hand  out  to  Raoul,  who 
threw  himself  into  his  arms.  When  in  the  shop,  he  cast 
a quick  glance  at  the  shop-lads,  who  looked  upon  the 
scene  with  a pride  mingled  with  some  uneasiness ; then 
plunging  his  hand  into  a box  of  dried  currants,  he  went 
straight  to  the  officer  who  was  philosophically  waiting 
for  him  at  the  door  of  the  shop. 

“ Those  features!  Can  it  be  you,  M.  de  Friedisch'?” 
cried  the  musketeer,  gayly.  “ Eh ! eh ! what ! do  we 
arrest  our  friends '?” 

“ Arrest  ! ” whispered  the  lads  among  themselves. 

“ Yes,  it  be  I,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! Goot-tay  to  you  ! ” said 
the  Swiss. 

“ Must  I give  you  up  my  sword  ? I warn  you  that  it  is 
long  and  heavy ; you  had  better  let  me  wear  it  to  the 
Louvre.  I feel  quite  lost  in  the  streets  without  a sword, 
and  you  would  be  more  at  a loss  than  I should,  with  two.” 

“ The  king  has  gifen  no  orders  apout  it,”  replied  the 
Swiss;  “so  keep  your  sword.” 

“ Well,  that  is  very  polite  on  the  part  of  the  king.  Let 
us  go,  at  once.” 

M.  de  Friedisch  was  not  a talker,  and  D’Artagnan  had 
too  much  to  think  of  to  talk.  From  Planchet’s  shop  to 
the  Louvre  was  not  far,  — they  arrived  in  ten  minutes. 
It  was  night.  M.  de  Friedisch  wanted  to  enter  by  the 
wicket.  “ Xo/’  said  D’Artagnan,  “you  would  lose  time 
by  that ; take  the  little  staircase.” 

The  Swiss  did  as  D’Artagnan  advised,  and  conducted 
him  to  the  vestibule  of  the  king’s  cabinet.  When  arrived 
there,  he  bowed  to  his  prisoner,  and  without  saying  any- 
thing, returned  to  his  post. 

D’Artagnan  had  not  had  time  to  ask  why  his  sword 
was  not  taken  from  him,  when  the  door  of  the  cabinet 
opened,  and  a valet  de  chambre  called,  “ M.  d’Artagnan!” 


40 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


The  musketeer  assumed  his  parade  carriage,  and  en- 
tered, with  his  eyes  wide  open,  his  brow  calm,  his  mus- 
tache stiff.  The  king  was  seated  at  a table  writing.  He 
did  not  disturb  himself  when  the  step  of  the  musketeer 
resounded  on  the  floor ; he  did  not  even  turn  his  head. 
D’Artagnan  advanced  as  far  as  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  seeing  that  the  king  paid  no  attention  to  him,  and 
suspecting,  besides,  that  that  was  nothing  but  affecta- 
tion, a sort  of  tormenting  preamble  to  what  was  coming, 
he  turned  his  back  on  the  king,  and  began  to  examine 
minutely  the  frescos  on  the  cornices,  and  the  cracks  in 
the  ceiling.  This  manoeuvre  was  accompanied  by  this 
silent  little  monologue  : “ Ah  ! you  want  to  humble  me, 
do  you  1 — you,  whom  I have  seen  so  young,  — you, 
whom  I have  saved  as  I would  my  own  child,  — you, 
whom  I have  served  as  I would  my  God,  — that  is  to  say, 
for  nothing.  Wait  awhile  ! wait  awhile  ! you  shall  see 
what  a man  can  do  who  has  snuffed  the  fire  of  the  Hu- 
guenots, under  the  beard  of  the  cardinal,  — the  true 
cardinal ! ” 

At  this  moment  Louis  turned  round.  “ Ah  ! are  you 
there,  M.  d’Artagnan  1 ” said  he. 

D’Artagnan  saw  the  movement,  and  imitated  it.  “ Yes, 
Sire,”  said  he. 

“Very  well;  have  the  goodness  to  wait  till  I have 
added  this  up.” 

D’Artagnan  made  no  reply ; he  only  bowed.  “ That 
is  polite  enough,”  thought  he ; “I  have  nothing  to  say.” 

Louis  made  a violent  dash  with  his  pen,  and  threw  it 
angrily  away. 

“ Go  on,  — work  yourself  up  l 1 thought  the  musketeer  ; 
“ you  will  put  me  at  my  ease.  You  shall  find  I did  not 
empty  the  bag  the  other  day  at  Blois  ! ” 

Louis  rose  from  his  seat,  passed  his  hand  over  his 


THE  KING. 


41 


brow  ; then,  stopping  opposite  D’Artagnan,  he  looked  at 
him  with  an  air  at  once  imperious  and  kind. 

“ What  does  he  want  with  me  ? I wish  he  would  get 
through  with  it,”  thought  the  musketeer. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  “you  know,  without  doubt, 
that  the  cardinal  is  dead  ? ” 

“ I suspected  so,  Sire.” 

“You  know  that,  consequently,  I am  master  in  my 
own  kingdom  ? ” 

“ That  is  not  a thing  that  dates  from  the  death  of  the 
cardinal,  Sire ; a man  is  always  master  in  his  own  house, 
when  he  wishes  to  be  so.” 

“ Yes ; but  do  you  remember  all  you  said  to  me  at 
Blois  1 ” 

“ Now  we  are  coming  to  it,”  thought  D’Artagnan  ; “ I 
was  not  deceived.  Well,  so  much  the  better;  it  is  a sign 
that  my  scent  is  tolerably  keen  yet.” 

“ You  do  not  answer  me,”  said  Louis. 

“Sire,  I think  I recollect.” 

“You  only  think ? ” 

“ It  is  so  long  ago.” 

“ If  you  do  not  remember,  I do.  This  is  what  you  said 
to  me;  listen  with  attention.” 

“ Oh,  I shall  listen  with  all  my  ears,  Sire ; for  it  is 
very  likely  the  conversation  will  turn  in  a fashion  very 
interesting  to  me.” 

Louis  once  more  looked  at  the  musketeer.  The  latter 
smoothed  the  feather  of  his  hat,  then  his  mustache,  and 
waited  intrepidly.  Louis  XIY.  continued  : “ You  quitted 
my  service,  Monsieur,  after  having  told  me  the  whole 
truth  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ That  is,  after  having  declared  to  me  all  you  thought 
was  true  with  regard  to  my  mode  of  thinking  and  acting. 


42 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


That  is  always  a merit.  You  began  by  telling  me  that 
you  had  served  my  family  thirty-four  yearn,  and  were 
tired.” 

“ I said  so ; yes,  Sire.” 

“ And  you  afterwards  admitted  that  that  fatigue  was 
a pretext,  and  that  discontent  was  the  real  cause.” 

“ I was  discontented,  it  is  true,  but  that  discontent  has 
never  betrayed  itself  that  I know  of ; and  if,  like  a man 
of  heart,  I have  spoken  out  before  your  Majesty,  I have 
not  even  thought  of  the  matter  in  the  presence  of  any- 
body else.” 

“ Do  not  excuse  yourself,  D’Artagnan,  but  continue  to 
listen  to  me.  When  reproaching  me  with  the  fact  that 
you  were  discontented,  you  received  in  reply  a promise. 
I said,  4 Wait ; ’ is  not  that  true?” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  as  true  as  what  I told  you.” 

‘‘You  answered  me,  ‘Hereafter?  No;  now,  immedi- 
ately.’ Do  not  excuse  yourself,  I tell  you.  It  was 
natural ; but  you  had  no  charity  for  your  poor  prince, 
M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ Sire,  charity  for  a king  on  the  part  of  a poor  soldier  ! ” 

“ You  understand  me  very  well.  You  know  that  I 
stood  in  need  of  it ; you  know  very  well  that  I was  not 
master;  you  know  very  well  that  my  hope  was  in  the 
future.  Now,  you  replied  to  me  when  I spoke  of  that 
future,  ‘ My  discharge,  and  that  directly  ! ’ ” 

“ That  is  true,”  murmured  D’Artagnan,  biting  his 
mustache. 

“ You  did  not  flatter  me  when  I was  in  distress,”  added 
Louis. 

“ But,”  said  D’Artagnan,  raising  his  head  nobly,  “ if 
I did  not  flatter  your  Majesty  when  poor,  neither  did  I 
betray  you.  I have  shed  my  blood  for  nothing ; I have 
watched  like  a dog  at  a door,  knowing  full  well  that 


THE  KING. 


43 


neither  bread  nor  bone  would  be  thrown  to  me.  I, 
although  poor  likewise,  asked  nothing  of  your  Majesty 
but  the  discharge  you  speak  of.” 

“ I know  you  are  a brave  man  ; but  I was  a young  man, 
and  you  ought  to  have  treated  me  with  some  considera- 
tion. What  had  you  to  reproach  the  king  with,  — that 
he  left  King  Charles  II.  without  succor  ! Let  us  speak 
further,  — that  he  did  not  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Man- 
cini!”  As  he  said  these  words,  the  king  fixed  upon 
the  musketeer  a searching  look. 

“ Ah ! ” thought  the  latter,  “ he  is  doing  more  than 
remembering ; he  is  interpreting.  The  devil  ! ” 

“ Your  judgment,”  continued  Louis,  “ fell  upon  the 
king  and  fell  upon  the  man.  But,  M.  d’Artagnan,  that 
weakness,  — for  you  considered  it  a weakness!”  D’Ar- 
tagnan  made  no  reply.  “ You  reproached  me  also  with 
regard  to  the  now  deceased  cardinal.  Now,  did  not 
the  cardinal  bring  me  up,  did  he  not  support  me ! — 
elevating  himself  and  supporting  himself  at  the  same 
time,  I admit ; but  the  benefit  was  discharged.  Had 
I been  an  ingrate,  an  egotist,  would  you,  then,  have  bet- 
ter loved  me  or  served  me ! ” 

“ Sire  ! ” 

“ We  will  say  no  more  about  it,  Monsieur ; it  would 
only  cause  you  too  many  regrets,  and  me  too  much  pain.” 
D’Artagnan  was  not  convinced.  The  young  king,  in 
adopting  a tone  of  hauteur  with  him,  did  not  advance  his 
purpose. 

“ You  have  since  reflected  ! ” resumed  Louis. 

“ Upon  what,  Sire!”  asked  D’Artagnan,  politely. 

“ Why,  upon  all  that  I have  said  to  you,  Monsieur.” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  no  doubt  — ” 

“And  you  have  only  waited  for  an  opportunity  of 
retracting  your  words  ! ” 


44 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Sire!” 

“ You  hesitate,  it  seems.” 

“ I do  not  understand  what  your  Majesty  did  me  the 
honor  to  say  to  meT’  Louis’s  brow  became  cloudy. 
“ Have  the  goodness  to  excuse  me,  Sire.  My  under- 
standing is  particularly  thick ; things  do  not  penetrate  it 
without  difficulty ; but  it  is  true  that  when  once  they  get 
in,  they  remain  there.” 

‘‘Yes,  you  appear  to  have  a memory.” 

“ Almost  as  good  as  your  Majesty’s.” 

“ Then  give  me  quickly  an  explanation.  My  time  is 
valuable.  What  have  you  been  doing  since  your  dis- 
charge ] ” 

“ Making  my  fortune,  Sire.” 

“ The  expression  is  rude,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ Your  Majesty  takes  it  in  bad  part,  certainly.  I 
entertain  nothing  but  the  profoundest  respect  for  the 
king;  and  if  I have  been  impolite,  which  might  be  ex- 
cused by  my  long  sojourn  in  camps  and  barracks,  your 
Majesty  is  too  much  above  me  to  be  offended  at  a word 
innocently  spoken  b}T  a soldier.” 

“ In  fact,  I know  that  you  have  done  a brilliant  deed 
in  England,  Monsieur.  I only  regret  that  you  have 
broken  your  promise.” 

“I!”  cried  D’Artagnan. 

“ Certainly.  You  pledged  your  word  not  to  serve  any 
other  prince  on  quitting  my  service.  Now,  it  was  for 
King  Charles  II.  that  you  undertook  the  marvellous 
carrying  off  of  M.  Monk.” 

“ Pardon  me-,  Sire  ; it  was  for  myself.” 

“ And  was  it  a success  for  you  % ” 

“ As  exploits  and  adventures  were  to  the  captains  of 
the  fifteenth  century.” 

“ What  do  you  call  succeeding  ? — a fortune  'l  ” 


THE  KING. 


45 


“ A hundred  thousand  crowns,  Sire,  which  I possess,  — 
that  is,  in  one  week,  three  times  as  much  money  as  I 
ever  had  in  fifty  years.5’ 

“It  is  a handsome  sum.  But  you  are  ambitious,  I 
believe  1 ” 

“ I,  Sire  ? The  quarter  of  it  would  be  a treasure,  and 
I swear  to  you  I have  no  thought  of  augmenting  it.” 

“ What ! do  you  contemplate  remaining  idle  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ To  relinquish  the  sword  ] ” 

“I  have  already  done  that.” 

“Impossible,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” said  Louis,  firmly. 

“ But,  Sire  — ” 

“ Well  % ” 

“ Why  not  % ” 

“ Because  I will  that  you  shall  not ! ” said  the  young 
prince,  in  a voice  so  stern  and  imperious  that  D’Artagnan 
evinced  surprise  and  even  uneasiness. 

“ Will  your  Majesty  allow  me  one  word  of  reply  1 ” he 
asked. 

“ Speak.” 

“ I formed  that  resolution  when  I was  poor  and 
destitute.” 

“ So  be  it ! Go  on.” 

“ Now,  when  by  my  industry  I have  acquired  a com- 
fortable means  of  subsistence,  would  your  Majesty  despoil 
me  of  my  liberty  ? Your  Majesty  would  condemn  me  to 
the  least,  when  I have  gained  the  most.” 

“ Who  gave  you  permission,  Monsieur,  to  fathom  my 
designs,  or  to  reckon  with  me  ? ” replied  Louis,  in  a voice 
almost  angry.  “ Who  told  you  what  I shall  do,  or  what 
you  will  yourself  do  ? ” 

“ Sire,”  said  the  musketeer,  quietly,  “ so  far  as  I see, 
freedom  is  not  in  order  in  this  conversation,  as  I believe 


46 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


it  was  on  the  day  that  we  came  to  an  explanation  at 
Blois.” 

“ No,  Monsieur  ; everything  is  changed.” 

“ I render  your  Majesty  my  sincere  congratulations, 
but  — ” 

“ But  you  don’t  believe  it  ^ ” 

“ I am  not  a great  statesman,  and  yet  I have  my  eye 
upon  affairs  ; it  seldom  fails.  Now,  I do  not  see  exactly 
as  your  Majesty  does,  Sire.  The  reign  of  Mazarin  is 
over,  but  that  of  the  financiers  has  begun.  They  have 
the  money ; your  Majesty  will  not  often  see  much  of  it. 
To  live  under  the  paw  of  those  hungry  wolves  is  hard  for 
a man  who  reckoned  upon  independence.” 

At  this  moment  some  one  scratched  at  the  door  of  the 
cabinet.  The  king  raised  his  head  proudly.  “ Your 
pardon,  M.  d’Artagnan,”  said  he  ; “ it  is  M.  Colbert,  who 
comes  to  make  me  a report.  Come  in,  M.  Colbert ! ” 

D’Artagnan  drew  back.  Colbert  entered,  his  papers  in 
his  hand,  and  went  up  to  the  king.  You  may  believe 
that  the  Gascon  did  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  applying 
his  keen,  quick  glance  to  the  new  figure  which  presented 
itself. 

“ Is  the  inquiry  finished,  then  1 ” asked  the  king  of 
Colbert. 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ And  the  opinion  of  the  inquisitors  ? ” 

“ Is  that  the  accused  merit  confiscation  and  death.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  king,  without  changing  countenance, 
and  casting  a glance  at  D’Artagnan.  “ And  your  own 
opinion,  M.  Colbert  ? ” said  he. 

Colbert  looked  at  D’Artagnan  in  his  turn.  That  impos- 
ing countenance  checked  the  words  upon  his  lips.  Louis 
perceived  this.  “ Do  not  be  disturbed,”  said  he  ; “ it  is 
M.  d’Artagnan.  Do  you  not  recognize  M.  d’Artagnan  ? ” 


THE  KING. 


47 


These  two  men  looked  at  each  other,  — D’Artagnan 
with  his  eyes  open  and  bright,  Colbert  with  his  eyes  half- 
closed  and  dim.  The  frank  intrepidity  of  the  one  dis- 
pleased the  other ; the  cautious  circumspection  of  the 
financier  displeased  the  soldier. 

“ Ah  ! this  is  the  gentleman  who  made  that  brilliant 
stroke  in  England,”  said  Colbert ; and  he  bowed  slightly 
to  D’Artagnan. 

“Ah  ! ” said  the  Gascon,  “this  is  the  gentleman  who 
clipped  off  the  silver  lace  from  the  uniform  of  the  Swiss.  A 
praiseworthy  piece  of  economy  ! ” and  he  bowed  profoundly. 

The  financier  thought  to  embarrass  the  musketeer; 
but  the  musketeer  ran  the  financier  right  through. 

“ M.  d’Artagnan,”  resumed  the  king,  who  had  not  re- 
marked all  these  shades  of  meaning,  of  which  Mazarin 
would  not  have  missed  one,  “ this  concerns  the  farmers 
of  the  revenue  who  have  robbed  me,  whom  I am  hanging, 
and  whose  death-warrants  I am  about  to  sign.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  starting. 

“ What  did  you  say  1 ” 

“ Oh,  nothing,  Sire  ! this  is  no  business  of  mine.” 

The  king  had  already  taken  up  the  pen,  and  was  apply- 
ing it  to  the  paper. 

“ Sire,”  said  Colbert,  in  a low  voice,  “ I beg  to  warn 
your  Majesty  that  if  an  example  be  necessary,  that  ex- 
ample may  present  some  difficulty  in  its  execution.” 

“ You  are  saying  — ” said  Louis. 

“You  must  not  conceal  from  yourself,”  continued 
Colbert,  quietly,  “that  attacking  the  farmers-general  is 
attacking  the  superintendence.  The  two  unfortunate 
guilty  men  in  question  are  the  particular  friends  of  a 
powerful  personage ; and  on  the  day  of  the  punishment, 
which  otherwise  might  be  hushed  up  in  the  ch&telet, 
disturbances  will  arise  without  doubt.” 


48 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Louis  colored  and  turned  towards  D’Artagnan,  who 
was  calmly  gnawing  his  mustache,  not  without  a smile  of 
pity  for  the  financier,  as  likewise  for  the  king,  who  had 
to  listen  to  him  so  long.  But  Louis  seized  the  pen,  and 
with  a movement  so  rapid  that  his  hand  shook,  affixed 
his  signature  at  the  bottom  of  the  two  papers  presented 
by  Colbert ; then,  looking  the  latter  in  the  face,  “ M. 
Colbert,”  said  he,  “ when  you  speak  to  me  of  affairs, 
exclude,  in  general,  the  word  ‘ difficulty  ’ from  your  rea- 
sonings and  opinions ; as  to  the  word  ‘ impossibility,’ 
never  pronounce  it.” 

Colbert  bowed,  much  humiliated  at  having  undergone 
such  a lesson  before  the  musketeer.  He  was  about  to  go 
out ; but,  anxious  to  make  up  for  his  rebuff,  “ I forgot 
to  announce  to  your  Majesty,”  said  he,  “ that  the  confis- 
cations amount  to  the  sum  of  five  million  livres.” 

“ That ’s  pretty,”  thought  D’Artagnan. 

“ Which  makes  in  my  coffers  — ” said  the  king. 

“ Eighteen  million  livres,  Sire,”  replied  Colbert,  bowing. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” grumbled  D’Artagnan,  “ that ’s  fine  ! ” 

“ M.  Colbert,”  added  the  king,  “you  will,  if  you  please, 
go  through  the  gallery  where  M.  de  Lyonne  is  waiting, 
and  will  tell  him  to  bring  hither  what  he  has  drawn  up 
— by  my  order.” 

“ Directly,  Sire ; if  your  Majesty  wants  me  no  more 
this  evening  ” 

“ No,  Monsieur  ; adieu  ! ” and  Colbert  went  out. 

“Now  let  us  return  to  our  affair,  M.  d’Artagnan,” 
resumed  the  king,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  “You 
see  that  with  respect  to  money  there  is  already  a notable 
change.” 

“ Something  like  from  zero  to  eighteen  millions,”  re- 
plied the  musketeer,  gayly.  “Ah  ! that  was  what  your 
Majesty  wanted  the  day  King  Charles  II.  came  to  Blois. 


THE  KING. 


49 


The  two  States  would  not  have  been  embroiled  to-day ; 
for  I must  say  that  there  also  I see  a stumbling-block.” 
“Well,  in  the  first  place,”  retorted  Louis,  “you  are 
unjust,  Monsieur ; for  if  Providence  had  permitted  me 
to  give  my  brother  the  million  that  day,  you  would  not 
have  quitted  my  service,  and  consequently  you  would  not 
have  made  your  fortune,  as  you  told  me  just  now  you 
have  done.  But  in  addition  to  this,  I have  had  another 
piece  of  good  fortune ; and  my  difference  with  Great 
Britain  need  not  alarm  you.” 

A valet  de  chambre  interrupted  the  king  by  announcing 
M.  de  Lyonne.  “ Come  in,  Monsieur,”  said  the  king; 
“you  are  punctual;  that  is  like  a good  servant.  Let  us 
see  your  letter  to  my  brother  Charles  II.” 

DArtagnan  pricked  up  his  ears.  “ A moment,  Mon- 
sieur ! ” said  Louis,  carelessly,  to  the  Gascon ; “I  must 
despatch  to  London  my  consent  to  the  marriage  of  my 
brother,  M.  le  Due  d Anjou,  with  the  Princess  Henrietta 
Stuart.” 

“ He  is  drubbing  me,  it  seems,”  murmured  DArtagnan, 
while  the  king  signed  the  letter,  and  dismissed  M.  de 
Lyonne ; “ but,  faith  ! I confess  the  more  he  drubs  me 
in  this  manner,  the  better  I shall  be  pleased.” 

The  king  followed  M.  de  Lyonne  with  his  eyes,  till  the 
door  was  closed  behind  him.  He  even  took  three  steps, 
as  if  he  would  follow  the  minister ; but  after  these  three 
steps,  he  stopped,  turned,  and  came  back  to  the  muske- 
teer. “ Now,  Monsieur,  said  he,  “let  us  hasten  to  con- 
clude. You  told  me  the  other  day,  at  Blois,  that  you 
were  not  rich?” 

“ But  I am  now,  Sire.” 

“Yes,  but  that  does  not  concern  me.  You  have  your 
own  money,  not  mine ; that  does  not  enter  into  my 
account.” 

VOL.  II.  — 4 


50 


THE  VI COMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I do  not  well  understand  wThat  your  Majesty  means.” 
“Well,  instead  of  stopping  to  choose  your  words,  speak 
up  like  a man  ! Would  you  be  satisfied  with  twenty 
thousand  livres  a year,  as  a fixed  income'?” 

“ But,  Sire,”  said  D’Artagnan,  opening  his  eyes  to  the 
utmost. 

“ Would  you  be  satisfied  with  four  horses  furnished 
and  kept,  and  with  a contingent  fund  for  what  you 
would  require,  according  to  occasion  and  need  ; or  would 
you  prefer  a fixed  sum  which  might  he,  for  instance, 
forty  thousand  livres  ? Answer  ! ” 

“ Sire,  your  Majesty  — ” 

“Yes,  you  are  surprised ; that  is  natural,  and  I ex- 
pected it.  Answer  me,  come  ! or  I shall  think  you  have 
no  longer  that  rapidity  of  judgment  I have  so  much 
valued  in  you.” 

“It  is  certain,  Sire,  that  twenty  thousand  livres  a year 
make  a handsome  sum  ; but  — ” 

“No  buts  ! Yes  or  no,  is  it  a suitable  indemnity  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! certainly  — ” 

“You  will  be  satisfied  with  it?  That  is  well.  It  will 
be  better,  too,  to  reckon  the  extra  expenses  separately ; 
you  can  arrange  that  with  Colbert.  Now  let  us  pass  to 
something  more  important.” 

“But,  Sire,  I told  your  Majesty  — ” 

“ That  you  wanted  rest.  I know  you  did ; only,  I replied 
that  I would  not  allow  it.  I am  master,  I suppose  1 ” 
“Yes,  Sire/’ 

“ Very  well.  You  were  formerly  in  the  mood  to  become 
captain  of  the  Musketeers  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Well,  here  is  your  commission  signed.  I will  place 
it  in  this  drawer.  The  day  on  which  you  shall  return 
from  a certain  expedition  which  I am  about  to  confide  to 


THE  KING. 


51 


you,  on  that  day  you  may  yourself  take  the  commission 
from  the  drawer.’’  D’Artagnan  still  hesitated,  and  hung 
down  his  head.  “ Come,  Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  “ one 
would  believe,  to  look  at  you,  that  you  did  not  know 
that  at  the  court  of  the  most  Christian  king  the  cap- 
tain-general of  the  Musketeers  takes  precedence  of  the 
marshals  of  France.” 

“ Sire,  I know  he  does.” 

“ Then  I must  fancy  you  do  not  put  faith  in  my  word  ? ” 

“ Oh,  Sire,  never,  never  dream  of  such  a thing  ! ” 

“ I have  wished  to  prove  to  you  that  you,  so  good  a 
servant,  had  lost  a good  master ; am  I anything  like  the 
master  that  will  suit  you  ? ” 

“ I begin  to  think  you  are,  Sire.” 

“ Then,  Monsieur,  you  will  resume  your  functions. 
Your  company  is  quite  disorganized  since  your  depar- 
ture, and  the  men  go  strolling  about  and  rioting  in  the 
pot-houses,  where  they  fight,  in  spite  of  my  edicts  or 
those  of  my  father.  You  will  reorganize  the  service  as 
quickly  as  possible.” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“You  will  not  again  quit  my  person.” 

“Very  well,  Sire.” 

“You  will  march  with  me  to  the  army  ; you  will  encamp 
round  my  tent.” 

“ Then,  Sire,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ if  it  is  only  for  im- 
posing upon  me  a service  like  that,  your  Majesty  need 
not  give  me  twenty  thousand  livres.  I shall  not  earn 
them.” 

“ I desire  that  you  shall  keep  open  house,  an  open 
table  ; I desire  that  my  captain  of  Musketeers  shall  be 
a person  of  importance.” 

“ And  I,”  said  D’Artagnan,  bluntly,  — “ I do  not  like 
easily  gotten  money.  I like  money  won ! Your  Majesty 


52 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


gives  rne  an  idle  trade,  which  the  first  comer  would  per- 
form for  four  thousand  livres.” 

Louis  XIV.  began  to  laugh.  “ You  are  a true  Gascon, 
M.  d’Artagnan ; you  will  draw  my  heart’s  secret  from 
me.” 

“ Has  your  Majesty  a secret,  then?” 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“Well  ! then  I accept  the  twenty  thousand  livres  ; for 
I will  keep  that  secret,  and  discretion  is  above  all  price 
in  these  times.  Will  your  Majesty  speak  now  ? ” 

“You  will  get  booted,  M.  d’Artagnan,  and  mount  on 
horseback.” 

“Directly,  Sire.” 

• “ Within  two  days.” 

“ That  is  well,  Sire ; for  I have  my  affairs  to  settle 
before  I set  out,  particularly  if  it  is  likely  there  should 
be  any  blows  to  receive.” 

“ That  may  happen.” 

“ Let  them  come.  But,  Sire,  you  have  addressed  your- 
self to  the  avarice,  to  the  ambition,  — you  have  addressed 
yourself  to  the  heart  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  but  you  have 
forgotten  one  thing.” 

“What  is  that?” 

“ You  have  said  nothing  to  his  vanity  ; when  shall  I 
be  a knight  of  the  king’s  orders  ? ” 

“ Does  that  interest  you  ? ” 

“ Why,  yes.  My  friend  Athos  is  quite  bestarred,  and 
that  dazzles  me.” 

“ You  shall  be  a knight  of  my  order  a month  after  you 
have  taken  your  commission  of  captain.” 

“Ah  ! ” said  the  officer,  thoughtfully,  “ after  the  expe- 
dition.” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ Where  is  your  Majesty  going  to  send  me  ?” 


THE  KING. 


53 


“ Are  you  acquainted  with  Bretagne  ] ” 

“No,  Sire.” 

“ Have  you  any  friends  there  ] ” 

“ In  Bretagne  ] No,  faith  ! ” 

“ So  much  the  better.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
fortifications  ? ” 

“ I believe  I do,  Sire,”  said  D’Artagnan,  smiling. 

“ That  is  to  say,  you  can  readily  distinguish  a fortress 
from  a simple  fortification,  such  as  is  allowed  to  our  vas- 
sal ckdtelams  ? ” 

“ I distinguish  a fort  from  a rampart  as  I distinguish  a 
cuirass  from  a pie-crust,  Sire.  Is  that  sufficient  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.  You  will  set  out,  then  ] ” 

“ For  Bretagne]  ” 

“Yes.” 

“Alone  ] ” 

“ Absolutely  alone ; that  is  to  say,  you  must  not  even 
take  a lackey  with  you.” 

“ May  I ask  your  Majesty  for  what  reason]  99 
“ Because,  Monsieur,  it  will  be  necessary  to  disguise 
yourself  sometimes  as  the  servant  of  a good  family.  Your 
face  is  very  well  known  in  France,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ And  then,  Sire  ] ” 

“ And  then  you  will  travel  slowly  through  Bretagne, 
and  will  examine  carefully  the  fortifications  of  that 
country.” 

“ The  coasts  ].” 

“Yes,  and  the  isles;  beginning  with  Belle- Isle-en- 
Mer.” 

“ Which  belongs  to  M.  Fouquet,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
in  a serious  tone,  raising  his  intelligent  eyes  to  Louis 

XIY. 

“ I fancy  you  are  right,  Monsieur,  and  that  Belle-Isle 
does  belong  to  M.  Fouquet,  in  fact.” 


54 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Then  your  Majesty  wishes  me  to  ascertain  if  Belle- 
Isle  is  a good  place1?” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  if  its  fortifications  are  new  or  old  1 ” 

“ Precisely.” 

“And  if,  perhaps,  the  vassals  of  the  superintendent  are 
sufficiently  numerous  to  form  a garrison  ? ” 

“ That  is  what  I want  to  know  ; you  have  hit  it  exactly.” 
“ And  if  they  are  not  fortifying,  Sire  ? ” 

“ You  will  travel  about  Bretagne,  listening  and  judging.” 
“ Then  I am  a king’s  spy  ? ” said  D’Artagnan,  bluntly, 
twisting  his  mustache. 

“ No,  Monsieur.” 

“ Your  pardon,  Sire  ; I spy  on  your  Majesty’s  account.” 
“You  go  on  a discovery,  Monsieur.  Would  you  march 
at  the  head  of  your  Musketeers,  sword  in  hand,  to  recon- 
noitre any  spot  whatever,  or  an  enemy’s  position  1 ” 

At  these  words  D’Artagnan  started  imperceptibly. 

“ Would  you,”  continued  the  king,  “ imagine  yourself 
to  be  a spy  ? ” 

“ No,  no,”  said  D’Artagnan,  but  pensively.  “ The  thing 
changes  its  character  when  one  watches  an  enemy  ; one 
is  but  a soldier.  And  if  they  are  fortifying  Belle-Isle  ? ” 
added  he,  quickly. 

“ You  will  make  an  exact  plan  of  the  fortifications.” 

“ Will  they  permit  me  to  enter 

“ That  does  not  concern  me  ; that  is  your  affair.  Did 
you  not  understand  that  I reserved  for  you  a contingent 
of  twenty  thousand  livres  per  annum,  if  you  wished 
for  it  ? ” 

“Yes,  Sire ; but  if  they  are  not  fortifying'?  ” 

“ You  will  return  quietly,  without  fatiguingyour  horse.” 
“Sire,  I am  ready.” 

“You  will  begin  to-morrow  by  going  to  Monsieur  the 


THE  KING. 


55 


Superintendent’s  to  draw  the  first  quarter  of  the  pension 
I allow  you.  Do  you  know  M.  Fouquet  % ” 

« Very  little,  Sire  ; but  I beg  your  Majesty  to  observe 
that  it  is  not  urgent  that  I should  know  him.” 

“ I ask  your  pardon,  Monsieur ; but  he  will  refuse  you 
the  money  I wish  you  to  take,  and  it  is  that  refusal  I 
look  for.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  D’Artagnan.  “ And  then,  Sire  ” 

“ The  money  being  refused,  you  will  go  and  seek  it  at 
M.  Colbert’s.  By  the  way,  have  you  a good  horse  % ” 

“ An  excellent  one,  Sire.  ” 

“ How  much  did  it  cost  you  ? ” 

“A  hundred  and  fifty  pistoles.” 

“ I will  buy  it  of  you.  Here  is  a note  for  two  hundred 
pistoles.” 

“ But  I want  my  horse  for  my  journey,  Sire.” 

“ Well  ! ” 

“ Well,  and  you  take  mine  from  me.” 

“ Not  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  I give  it  to  you.  Only, 
as  it  is  now  mine  and  not  yours,  I am  sure  you  will  not 
spare  it.” 

“ Your  Majesty  is  in  a hurry,  then  % ” 

“ A great  hurry.” 

“ Then  what  compels  me  to  wait  two  days  1 ” 

“ Two  reasons  known  to  myself.” 

“ That  is  different.  The  horse  may  make  up  the  two 
days  in  the  eight  he  has  for  the  journey  ; and  then  there 
is  the  post.” 

“ No,  no  ; the  post  compromises,  M.  d’Artagnan.  Go, 
and  do  not  forget  you  are  mine.” 

“ Sire,  it  was  not  I who  ever  forgot  it.  At  what  hour 
shall  I take  my  leave  of  your  Majesty  day  after  to- 
morrow  % ” 

“ Where  do  you  lodge  ” 


56  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

“ I must  henceforward  lodge  at  the  Louvre.” 

“ That  must  not  be  now.  Keep  your  lodgings  in  the 
city  ; I will  pay  for  them.  As  for  your  departure,  it  must 
take  place  at  night,  because  you  must  set  out  without 
being  seen  by  any  one,  or,  if  you  are  seen,  it  must  not  be 
known  that  you  belong  to  me.  A close  mouth,  Monsieur  ! ” 
“ Your  Majesty  spoils  all  you  have  said  by  that  single 
word.” 

“ I asked  you  where  you  lodged,  for  I cannot  always 
send  to  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  to  seek  you.” 

“ I lodge  with  M.  Planchet,  a grocer,  Rue  des  Lom- 
bards, at  the  sign  of  the  Pilon  d’Or.” 

“ Go  out  but  little ; show  yourself  still  less,  and  await 
my  orders.” 

, “ And  yet,  Sire,  I must  go  for  the  money.” 

“ That  is  true ; but  when  going  to  the  superinten- 
dent’s, where  so  many  people  are  constantly  going,  you 
must  mingle  with  the  crowd.” 

“ I want  the  drafts,  Sire,  for  the  money.” 

“ Here  they  are.” 

The  king  signed  them,  and  D’Artagnan  looked  on  to 
assure  himself  of  their  correctness.  “That  is  money,” 
said  he ; “ and  money  is  either  read  or  counted.” 

“ Adieu,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” added  the  king ; “ I think 
you  have  perfectly  understood  me.” 

“II  I understood  that  your  Majesty  sends  me  to 
Belle-Isle-en-Mer ; that  is  all.” 

“ To  learn  — ” 

“ To  learn  how  M.  Fouquet’s  works  are  going  on  ; that 
is  all.” 

“Very  well ; I admit  you  may  be  captured.” 

“ And  I do  not  admit  it,”  replied  the  Gascon,  boldly. 

“ I admit  that  you  may  be  killed,”  continued  the  king. 
“ That  is  not  probable,  Sire.” 


THE  KING. 


5? 


“ In  the  first  case,  you  must  not  speak ; in  the  second, 
there  must  be  no  paper  found  upon  you  to  speak.” 

D’Artagnan  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  ceremony, 
and  took  leave  of  the  king,  saying  to  himself,  " The  Eng- 
lish shower  continues  ; let  us  remain  under  the  spout  1 ” 


58 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE 


CHAPTER  YI. 

M.  fouquet’s  houses. 

While  D’Artagnan  was  returning  to  Planchet’s  house, 
his  head  aching  and  bewildered  with  all  that  had  just 
happened  to  him,  there  was  passing  a scene  of  quite  a 
different  character,  which  nevertheless  is  not  foreign  to 
the  conversation  our  musketeer  had  just  had  with  the 
king;  only,  this  scene  took  place  outside  of  Paris,  in  a 
house  owned  by  the  superintendent  Fouquet  in  the  village 
of  St.  Mande. 

The  minister  had  just  arrived  at  this  country-house, 
followed  by  his  chief  clerk,  who  carried  an  enormous  port' 
folio  full  of  papers  to  be  examined  and  others  requiring 
signature.  As  it  was  about  five  o’clock  in  the  afternoon, 
the  masters  had  dined ; supper  was  preparing  for  twenty 
inferior  guests.  The  superintendent  did  not  stop ; on 
alighting  from  his  carriage,  with  the  same  bound  he 
sprang  through  the  doorway,  rushed  through  the  apart- 
ments and  gained  his  office,  where  he  declared  he  would 
shut  himself  up  to  work,  commanding  that  he  should  not 
be  disturbed  for  anything  but  an  order  from  the  king. 
As  soon  as  this  direction  had  been  given,  Fouquet  shut 
himself  up,  and  two  footmen  were  placed  as  sentinels  at 
his  door.  Then  Fouquet  pushed  a bolt  which  moved  a 
panel  that  walled  up  the  entrance,  and  prevented  every- 
thing that  passed  in  this  office  from  being  either  seen  or 
heard.  But,  improbable  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  indeed  to 
be  alone  that  Fouquet  shut  himself  up  thus  ; for  he  went 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


59 


straight  to  his  desk,  seated  himself  at  it,  opened  the  port- 
folio, and  began  to  sort  the  enormous  mass  of  papers  it 
contained. 

It  was  not  more  than  ten  minutes  after  he  had  entered 
and  taken  all  the  precautions  we  have  described,  that  the 
repeated  noise  of  several  regular  taps  struck  his  ear,  and 
appeared  to  engross  his  attention.  Fouquet  raised  his 
head,  turned  his  ear,  and  listened.  The  taps  continued. 
Then  the  worker  rose  wTith  a slight  movement  of  im- 
patience, and  walked  straight  up  to  a glass  behind  which 
the  blow^s  were  struck  by  a hand  or  by  some  invisible 
mechanism.  It  was  a large  glass  let  into  a panel.  Three 
other  glasses,  exactly  similar  to  it,  completed  the  sym- 
metry of  the  apartment.  Nothing  distinguished  that 
from  the  others.  Without  doubt,  these  repeated  taps 
were  a signal;  for  at  the  moment  w7hen  Fouquet  ap- 
proached the  glass  listening,  the  same  noise  was  renewed, 
and  in  the  same  measure. 

“ Oh ! ” murmured  the  superintendent,  wTith  surprise, 
“who  is  yonder?  I did  not  expect  any  one  to-day ; ” 
and,  probably  to  answer  the  signal  that  had  been  made, 
he  pulled  a gilded  nail  in  that  same  glass,  and  shook  it 
thrice.  Then  returning  to  his  place,  and  seating  himself 
again,  “ Faith  ! let  them  wait,”  said  he  ; and  plunging 
again  into  the  ocean  of  papers  unrolled  before  him,  he 
appeared  to  think  of  nothing  but  work.  In  fact,  with 
incredible  rapidity  and  marvellous  clearness,  Fouquet 
deciphered  the  largest  papers  and  most  complicated 
writings,  correcting  them,  annotating  them  with  a pen 
moved  as  if  by  a fever ; and  the  work  dissolving  under 
his  hands,  signatures,  figures,  references,  multiplied  them- 
selves as  if  ten  clerks  — that  is  to  say,  a hundred  fingers 
and  ten  brains  -had  performed  the  duties,  instead  of  the 
ten  fingers  and  single  brain  of  this  man.  From  time  to 


60 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


time  only,  Fouquet,  absorbed  in  his  work,  raised  his  head 
to  cast  a furtive  glance  upon  a clock  placed  before  him. 
The  reason  for  this  was  that  Fouquet  had  set  himself  a 
task  : and  when  this  task  was  once  set,  in  one  hour’s  work 
he,  by  himself,  did  what  another  would  not  have  accom- 
plished in  a day,  — always  certain,  provided  he  was  not 
disturbed,  to  arrive  at  the  end  in  the  time  his  devouring 
activity  had  fixed.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  ardent  labor 
the  quick  strokes  upon  the  little  bell,  placed  behind  the 
glass,  sounded  once  more,  hasty,  and  consequently  more 
urgent. 

“ The  lady  appears  to  be  getting  impatient,”  said 
Fouquet.  “ Humph  ! a calm  ! That  must  be  the  coun- 
tess ; but  no,  the  countess  has  gone  to  Rambouillet  for 
three  days.  The  president’s  wife,  then  ? Oh,  no ! the 
president’s  wife  would  not  assume  such  grand  airs ; she 
would  ring  very  humbly,  and  then  await  my  good  pleas- 
ure. It  is  very  certain  that  while  I may  not  know  who 
it  can  be,  I do  know  who  it  cannot  be.  And  since  it  is 
not  you,  Marchioness,  since  it  cannot  be  you,  a fig  for  the 
rest ! ” and  he  went  on  with  his  work  in  spite  of  the 
repeated  appeals  of  the  bell. 

At  the  end  of  a quarter  of  an  hour,  however,  impatience 
seized  Fouquet  in  his  turn.  He  consumed  rather  than 
finished  the  remainder  of  his  task ; he  thrust  his  papers 
into  the  portfolio,  and  giving  a glance  at  the  mirror,  while 
the  taps  continued  faster  than  ever,  “Now,”  said  he, 
“whence  comes  all  this  racket?  What  has  happened, 
and  who  can  the  Ariadne  be  who  expects  me  so  impa- 
tiently ? Let  us  see  ! ” 

He  then  applied  the  tip  of  his  finger  to  the  nail  parallel 
to  the  one  he  had  drawn.  Immediately  the  glass  moved 
like  the  fold  of  a door,  and  discovered  a secret  closet, 
rather  deep,  in  which  the  superintendent  disappeared  as 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


61 


if  going  into  a vast  box.  When  there,  he  touched  another 
spring,  which  opened,  not  a board,  but  a block  of  the 
wall ; and  he  went  out  by  that  opening,  leaving  the  door 
to  shut  of  itself.  Then  Fouquet  descended  a score  or 
more  of  steps  which  sank,  winding,  underground,  and 
came  to  a long,  paved,  subterranean  passage,  lighted  by 
invisible  loop-holes.  The  walls  of  this  vault  were  covered 
with  slabs,  or  tiles,  and  the  floor  with  carpeting.  This 
passage  was  under  the  street  itself  which  separated 
Fouquet’s  house  from  the  Park  of  Vincennes.  At  the 
end  of  the  passage  ascended  a winding  staircase  parallel 
with  that  by  which  Fouquet  had  descended.  He  mounted 
these  other  stairs,  entered  by  means  of  a spring  placed 
in  a closet  similar  to  that  in  his  office,  and  from  this 
closet  passed  into  a chamber  entirely  unoccupied,  al- 
though furnished  with  the  utmost  elegance.  As  soon 
as  he  entered,  he  examined  carefully  whether  the  glass 
closed  without  leaving  any  trace,  and,  doubtless  satisfied 
with  his  observation,  he  opened,  by  means  of  a small 
gilded  key,  the  triple  fastenings  of  a door  in  front  of  him. 
This  time  the  door  opened  upon  a handsome  boudoir, 
sumptuously  furnished,  in  which  was  seated  upon  cushions 
a lady  of  surpassing  beauty,  who  at  the  sound  of  the  lock 
sprang  towards  Fouquet. 

“ Good  heavens  ! ” cried  the  latter,  starting  back  with  as- 
tonishment. “ Madame  la  Marquise  de  Belliere ! you  here  1 ” 

“ Yes,”  murmured  the  Marchioness,  — “ yes ; it  is  I, 
Monsieur.” 

“ Marchioness  ! dear  marchioness  ! ” added  Fouquet, 
ready  to  prostrate  himself  before  her.  “ My  God  ! how 
did  you  come  here  ? and  T,  to  keep  you  waiting  ! ” 

“ A long  time,  Monsieur ; yes,  a very  long  time  I ” 

“I  am  happy  in  thinking  this  waiting  has  appeared 
long  to  you,  Marchioness ! ” 


62 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Oh,  an  eternity,  Monsieur  ! I rang  more  than  twenty 
times.  Did  you  not  hear  me  ? ” 

“ Marchioness,  you  are  pale,  you  are  trembling.” 

“ Did  you  not  hear,  then,  that  you  were  summoned  ? ” 
“ Oh,  yes,  I heard  plainly  enough,  Madame  ; but  I 
could  not  come.  After  your  severity  and  your  refusal, 
how  could  I dream  it  was  you  % If  I could  have  had  any 
suspicion  of  the  happiness  that  awaited  me,  believe  me, 
Madame,  I would  have  left  everything  to  fall  at  your  feet 
as  I do  at  this  moment.” 

“ Are  we  quite  alone,  Monsieur  ? ” asked  the  Marchion- 
ess, looking  round  the  room. 

“Oh,  yes,  Madame ; I can  assure  you  of  that.” 

“ Really'?”  said  the  Marchioness,  in  a melancholy  tone. 
“ You  sigh,”  said  Fouquet. 

“ What  mysteries  ! what  precautions  ! ” said  the  mar- 
chioness, with  a slight  bitterness  of  expression;  “ and  how 
evident  it  is  that  you  fear  the  least  suspicion  of  your 
amours  ! ” 

“ Would  you  prefer  their  being  made  public  V} 

“Oh,  no!  you  act  like  a considerate  man,”  said  the 
marchioness,  smiling. 

“Come,  dear  marchioness,  punish  me  not  with  re- 
proaches, I implore  you.” 

“ Reproaches  ! Have  I a right  to  make  you  any  *?  ” 

“ No,  unfortunately,  no  ; but  tell  me,  you  whom  for  a 
year  I have  loved  without  return  and  without  hope  — ” 
“You  are  mistaken,  — without  hope  it  is  true,  but  not 
without  return.” 

“ Oh  ! for  me,  there  is  but  one  proof  of  love ; and  that 
proof  I still  want.” 

“ I have  come  to  bring  it  to  you,  Monsieur.” 

Fouquet  wished  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms,  but  she  dis- 
engaged herself  with  a slight  movement. 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


63 


“ You  persist  in  deceiving  yourself,  Monsieur,  and 
never  will  accept  from  me  the  only  thing  I am  willing  to 
give  you,  — devotion.” 

“ Ah,  then,  you  do  not  love  me  ? Devotion  is  but  a 
virtue ; love  is  a passion.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  I implore  you  ! I should  not  have  come 
hither  without  a serious  motive ; you  are  well  assured  of 
that,  are  you  not  h v 

“ The  motive  is  of  very  little  consequence,  so  that  you 
are  but  here,  — so  that  I see  you,  so  that  I speak  to  you  ! ” 
“ You  are  right ; the  principal  thing  is  that  I am  here 
without  any  one  having  seen  me,  and  that  I can  speak  to 
you.” 

Fouquet  sank  on  his  knees  before  her.  “ Speak ! speak, 
Madame  ! ” said  he,  “ I am  listening.” 

The  marchioness  looked  at  Fouquet,  on  his  knees  at  her 
feet ; and  there  was  in  the  gaze  of  the  woman  a strange 
mixture  of  love  and  melancholy. 

“ Oh  ! ” at  length  murmured  she,  “ would  that  I were 
she  who  has  the  right  of  seeing  you  every  minute,  of 
speaking  to  you  every  instant ! would  that  I were  she 
who  watches  over  you,  she  who  has  no  need  of  mysterious 
springs  to  summon  and  cause  to  appear,  like  a sylph,  the 
man  she  loves,  to  gaze  at  him  for  an  hour,  and  then  see 
him  disappear  in  the  darkness  of  a mystery  still  more 
strange  at  his  going  out  than  at  his  coming  in ! Oh,  I 
should  be  a happy  woman ! ” 

“ Do  you  happen,  Marchioness,”  said  Fouquet,  smiling, 
“ to  be  speaking  of  my  wife  ? ” 

“ Yes,  certainly  ; of  her  I spoke.” 

“ Well,  you  need  not  envy  her  lot,  Marchioness  ; of  all 
the  women  with  whom  I have  relations,  Madame  Fou- 
quet is  the  one  I see  the  least  of,  and  who  has  the  least 
intercourse  with  me.” 


64 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ At  least,  Monsieur,  she  is  not  reduced  to  place,  as  I 
have  done,  her  hand  upon  the  ornament  of  a mirror  to 
call  you  to  her ; at  least  you  do  not  reply  to  her  by  the 
mysterious,  frightful  sound  of  a bell,  the  spring  of  which 
comes  from  I don’t  know  where ; at  least  you  have  not 
forbidden  her  to  endeavor  to  discover  the  secret  of  these 
communications  under  pain  of  breaking  off  forever  your 
connections  with  her,  as  you  have  forbidden  all  who  have 
come  here  before  me,  and  all  who  shall  come  after  me.” 

“Dear  Marchioness,  how  unjust  you  are,  and  how  little 
do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  in  thus  exclaiming  against 
mystery  ! It  is  with  mystery  alone  we  can  love  without 
trouble,  and  it  is  with  love  without  trouble  alone  that  we 
can  be  happy.  But  let  us  return  to  ourselves,  to  that  devo- 
tion of  which  you  were  speaking;  or  rather,  Marchioness, 
let  me  labor  under  a pleasing  delusion,  and  believe  that 
this  devotion  is  love.” 

“ Just  now,”  repeated  the  Marchioness,  passing  over  her 
eyes  a hand  modelled  upon  most  graceful  classic  lines,  — 
“just  now  I was  prepared  to  speak ; my  ideas  were  clear, 
bold  ; now  I am  quite  confused,  quite  troubled.  I fear  I 
bring  you  bad  news.” 

“ If  it  is  to  that  bad  news  I owe  your  presence,  Mar- 
chioness, welcome  be  that  bad  news  ! or  rather,  Marchion- 
ess, since  you  allow  that  I am  not  quite  indifferent  to 
you,  let  me  hear  nothing  of  the  bad  news,  but  speak  of 
yourself.” 

“No,  no!  on  the  contrary,  demand  it  of  me;  require 
me  to  tell  it  to  you  instantly,  and  not  to  allow  myself  to 
be  turned  aside  by  any  feeling  whatever.  Bouquet,  my 
friend  ! it  is  of  immense  importance.” 

“You  astonish  me,  Marchioness ; I will  even  say  you  al- 
most frighten  me.  You,  so  serious,  so  collected  ; you  who 
know  the  world  we  live  in  so  well ! Is  it  then  serious  ? ” 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


65 


“ Oh,  very  serious  ! ” 

“In  the  first  place,  how  did  you  come  here?” 

“ You  shall  know  that  presently ; but  first  to  some- 
thing of  more  consequence.” 

“ Speak,  Marchioness,  speak  ! I implore  you,  have  pity 
on  my  impatience.” 

“ Do  you  know  that  Colbert  is  made  intendant  of  the 
finances  ? ” 

“ Bah  ! Colbert,  little  Colbert ! ” 

“ Yes ; Colbert,  little  Colbert ! ” 

“ Mazarin’s  factotum  ? ” 

“ The  same.” 

“ Well ! what  do  you  see  so  terrific  in  that,  dear  mar 
chi  on  ess  ? Little  Colbert  is  intendant,  — that  is  astonish- 
ing, I confess,  but  it  is  not  terrific.” 

“Do  you  think  the  king  has  given,  without  a pressing 
motive,  such  a place  to  one  you  call  a little  scullion  ? ” 

“ In  the  first  place,  is  it  positively  true  that  the  king 
has  given  it  to  him  ? ” 

“ It  is  so  said.” 

“ Ay,  but  who  says  so  ? ” 

“ Everybody.” 

“ Everybody,  that ’s  nobody ; mention  some  one  likely 
to  be  well  informed  who  says  so.” 

“Madame  Yanel.” 

“Ah!  now  you  begin  to  frighten  me  in  earnest,”  said 
Fouquet,  laughing.  “ The  fact  is,  that  if  any  one  is  well 
informed,  or  ought  to  be  well  informed,  it  is  the  person 
you  name.” 

“ Do  not  speak  ill  of  poor  Marguerite,  M.  Fouquet ; for 
she  still  loves  you.” 

“Bah  ! indeed?  That  is  scarcely  credible.  I thought 
little  Colbert,  as  you  said  just  now,  had  passed  over  that 
love,  and  left  upon  it  a spot  of  ink  or  a stain  of  grease.” 
VOL.  it.  — 5 


66 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Fouquet ! Fouquet ! is  this  the  way  you  always  act 
towards  the  poor  women  you  desert  'l  ” 

“Why,  you  surely  are  not  going  to  undertake  the 
defence  of  Madame  Yanel  ? ” 

“Yes,  I will  undertake  it;  for,  I repeat,  she  loves  you 
still,  and  the  proof  is  that  she  saves  you.” 

“ By  your  interposition,  Marchioness ; that  is  cunning 
on  her  part.  No  angel  could  be  more  agreeable  to  me, 
or  could  lead  me  more  certainly  to  salvation.  But  let 
me  ask  you,  do  you  know  Marguerite  1 ” 

“She  was  my  friend  at  the  convent.” 

“And  you  say  that  she  has  informed  you  that  M. 
Colbert  was  appointed  intendant'?” 

“ Yes,  she  did.” 

“ Well,  enlighten  me,  Marchioness  ; granted  M.  Colbert 
is  intendant,  so  be  it.  In  what  can  an  intendant  — that 
is  to  say,  my  subordinate,  my  clerk  — give  me  umbrage 
or  injure  me,  even  were  he  M.  Colbert1?  ” 

“You  do  not  reflect,  Monsieur,  apparently,”  replied  the 
marchioness. 

“ Upon  what  ? ” 

“ This,  — that  M.  Colbert  hates  you.” 

“ Hates  me  ! ” cried  Fouquet.  “ Good  heavens  ! Mar- 
chioness, whence  do  you  come,  where  can  you  live  ? 
Hates  me  ! why,  all  the  world  hates  me,  — he  as  others 
do.” 

“ He  more  than  others.” 

“ More  than  others  *?  let  him.” 

“ He  is  ambitious.” 

“ Who  is  not,  Marchioness  *?  ” 

“ Yes  ; but  with  him  ambition  has  no  bounds.” 

“ I am  quite  aware  of  that,  since  he  made  it  a point  to 
succeed  me  with  Madame  Yanel.” 

“ And  obtained  his  end  ; look  to  that ! ” 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


67 


“ Do  you  mean  to  say  he  has  the  presumption  to  hope 
to  pass  from  intendant  to  superintendent  ? ” 

“ Have  you  not  yourself  already  had  the  same  fear?” 

“ Oh ! ” said  Fouquet,  “ to  succeed  me  with  Madame 
Vanel  is  one  thing,  to  succeed  me  with  the  king  is  an- 
other. France  is  not  to  be  purchased  as  easily  as  the  wife 
of  an  accountant.” 

“Eh  ! Monsieur,  everything  is  to  be  bought;  if  not  by 
gold,  by  intrigue.” 

“Nobody  knows  to  the  contrary  better  than  you, 
Madame,  — you  to  whom  I have  offered  millions.” 

“ Instead  of  millions,  Fouquet,  you  should  have  offered 
me  a true,  single,  and  boundless  love ; I might  have  ac- 
cepted that.  So,  you  see  still,  everything  is  to  be  bought, 

— if  not  in  one  way,  in  another.” 

“ So  Colbert,  in  your  opinion,  is  in  a fair  way  to  secure 
my  place  of  superintendent.  Make  yourself  easy  on  that 
head,  my  dear  marchioness ; he  is  not  yet  rich  enough  to 
purchase  it.” 

“ But  if  he  should  rob  you  of  it  ? ” 

“Ah!  that  is  another  thing.  Unfortunately,  before 
he  can  reach  me,  — that  is  to  say,  the  body  of  the  place, 

— he  must  destroy,  must  make  a breach  in  the  outer 
works ; and  I am  devilishly  well  fortified,  Marchioness.” 

“What  you  call  your  outworks  are  your  creatures,  are 
they  not,  — your  friends  ? ” 

“ Exactly  so.” 

“ And  is  M.  d’Eymeris  one  of  your  creatures  ? ” 

“ Yes,  he  is.” 

“ Is  M.  Lyodot  one  of  your  friends?  ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ M.  de  Yanin  ? ” 

“ M.  de  Yanin  ! Ah  ! they  may  do  what  they  like  with 
him,  but  — ” 


68 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BfcAGELONNE. 


“ But  — ” 

“ But  they  must  not  touch  the  others.” 

“Well,  if  you  are  anxious  they  should  not  touch 
Messieurs  d’Eymeris  and  Lyodot,  it  is  time  to  look 
about  you.” 

“ Who  threatens  them  1 ” 

“ Will  you  listen  to  me  now  1 ” 

“ Forever,  Marchioness.” 

“ Without  interrupting  me  'l  ” 

“ Speak ! ” 

“Well,  this  morning  Marguerite  sent  for  me.” 

“ And  what  did  she  want  with  you  h ” 

“ ‘ I dare  not  see  M.  Eouquet  myself/  said  she.” 

“ Bah  ! why  should  she  think  I would  reproach  her  1 
Poor  woman  ! she  vastly  deceives  herself.” 

“ ( See  him  yourself/  said  she,  ‘ and  tell  him  to  beware 
of  M.  Colbert.’  ” 

“ What ! she  warned  me  to  beware  of  her  lover  ? ” 

“I  have  told  you  she  still  loves  you.” 

“ Go  on,  Marchioness  ! ” 

“ ‘ M.  Colbert/  she  added,  ‘ came  to  me  two  hours  ago, 
to  inform  me  he  was  appointed  intendant.’  ” 

“ I have  already  told  you,  Marchioness,  that  M.  Colbert 
would  only  be  the  more  in  my  power  for  that.” 

“ Yes,  but  that  is  not  all ; Marguerite  is  intimate, 
as  you  know,  with  Madame  d’Eymeris  and  Madame 
Lyodot.” 

“ I know  she  is.” 

“Well,  M.  Colbert  put  many  questions  to  her  relative 
to  the  fortunes  of  those  two  gentlemen,  and  as  to  the 
degree  of  devotion  they  bear  you.” 

“ Oh,  as  for  those  two,  I can  answer  for  them ; they 
must  be  killed  before  they  can  cease  to  be  mine.” 
“Then,  as  Madame  Vanel  was  obliged  to  leave  M. 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


69 


Colbert  for  an  instant  to  receive  a visitor,  and  as  M. 
Colbert  is  industrious,  scarcely  was  the  new  intendant 
left  alone,  before  he  took  a pencil  from  his  pocket,  and, 
as  there  was  paper  on  the  table,  began  to  make  pencil- 
notes.” 

“ Notes  concerning  D’Eymeris  and  Lyodot?  ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ I am  curious  to  know  what  those  notes  were  about.” 
“ And  that  is  just  what  I have  brought  you.” 

“ Madame  Yanel  has  taken  Colbert’s  notes  and  sent 
them  to  me  ? ” 

“ No  ; but  by  a chance  which  resembles  a miracle,  she 
has  a duplicate  of  those  notes.” 

“ How  could  she  get  that  h ” 

“ Listen  ! I told  you  that  Colbert  found  some  paper  on 
the  table.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That  he  had  taken  a pencil  from  his  pocket.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  had  written  upon  that  paper.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well,  this  pencil  was  a lead-pencil,  consequently 
hard  ; so  it  marked  in  black  upon  the  first  sheet,  and 
left  its  impression  upon  the  second.” 

“ Go  on  ! ” 

“Colbert,  when  tearing  off  the  first  sheet,  took  no 
notice  of  the  second.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Well,  on  the  second  could  be  read  what  had  been  writ- 
ten on  the  first ; Madame  Yanel  read  it,  and  sent  for  me.” 
“ Ah  ! ” 

“ Then,  when  she  was  assured  that  I was  your  devoted 
friend,  she  gave  me  the  paper  and  told  me  the  secret  of 
this  house.” 


70 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ And  this  paper?”  said  Fouquet,  with  some  degree 
of  agitation. 

“ Here  it  is,  Monsieur  ; read  it ! ” said  the  Marchioness. 

Fouquet  read  : — 

“ Names  of  the  farmers  of  the  revenue  to  he  condemned  by 
the  Chamber  of  Justice:  JJ’Eymeris,  friend  of  M.  F.;  Lyodot, 
friend  of  M.  F.;  De  Vanin,  indif.” 

“ D’Eymeris  and  Lyodot  ! ” cried  Fouquet,  re-reading. 

“ ‘Friends  of  M.  F.,’”  said  the  marchioness,  pointing 
at  the  same  time  to  the  paper. 

“ But  what  is  the  meaning  of  these  words,  6 To  be  con- 
demned by  the  Chamber  of  J ustice  ’ ? ” 

“ That  is  clear  enough,  I think,”  said  the  marchioness. 
“ Besides,  that  is  not  all.  Read  on,  read  on ! ” 

Fouquet  continued : — 

“The  first  two  to  death;  the  third  to  be  dismissed,  with 
Messieurs  d’Hautemont  and  de  la  Valette,  whose  property  will 
be  confiscated.” 

“Great  God!”  cried  Fouquet,  “to  death,  to  death! 
Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris  ! But  even  if  the  Chamber  of 
Justice  should  condemn  them  to  death,  the  king  will 
never  ratify  their  condemnation,  and  they  cannot  be  exe- 
cuted without  the  king’s  signature.” 

“ The  king  has  made  M.  Colbert  intendant.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Fouquet,  as  if  he  caught  a glimpse  of  a 
yawning  abyss  beneath  his  feet,  “impossible!  impossi- 
ble ! But  who  passed  a pencil  over  the  marks  made  by 
Colbert  ? ” 

“ I did.  I was  afraid  the  first  would  be  effaced.” 

“ Oh  ! I will  know  all.” 

“You  will  know  nothing,  Monsieur;  you  despise  your 
enemy  too  much  for  that.” 


M.  FOUQUET’S  HOUSES. 


71 


“ Pardon  me,  my  dear  marchioness,  excuse  me  ; yes, 
M.  Colbert  is  my  enemy,  I believe  it ; yes,  M.  Colbert 
is  a man  to  be  dreaded,  I admit.  But  I — I have  time ; 
and  as  you  are  here,  as  you  have  assured  me  of  your 
devotion,  as  you  have  allowed  me  to  hope  for  your  love, 
as  we  are  alone  — ” 

“ I came  here  to  save  you,  M.  Fouquet,  and  not  to  ruin 
myself/’  said  the  marchioness,  rising;  “ therefore  be- 
ware ! — ” 

“ Marchioness,  in  truth  you  alarm  yourself  too  much ; 
at  least,  unless  this  alarm  is  but  a pretext  — ” 

“ He  has  a deep  heart,  that  M.  Colbert ; beware  ! ” 

Fouquet,  in  his  turn,  drew  himself  up.  “ And  I ? ” 
asked  he. 

“ Oh  ! you,  — you  have  only  a noble  heart.  Beware  ! ” 

“ So?” 

“ I have  done  what  I ought,  my  friend,  at  the  risk  of 
losing  my  reputation.  Adieu  ! ” 

“ Not  adieu  ; au  revoir  ! ” 

“Perhaps,”  said  the  marchioness,  giving  her  hand  to 
Fouquet  to  kiss,  and  walking  towards  the  door  with  so 
firm  a step  that  he  did  not  dare  to  bar  her  passage. 

As  for  Fouquet,  he  retraced,  with  head  hanging  down 
and  a cloud  over  his  brow,  the  path  of  the  subterranean 
passage  along  which  ran  the  metal  wires  that  communi- 
cated from  one  house  to  the  other,  transmitting,  through 
two  mirrors,  the  wishes  and  signals  of  two  correspondents. 


72 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  ABBE  FOUQUET. 

Fouquet  hastened  back  to  his  apartment  by  the  subter- 
ranean passage,  and  immediately  closed  the  mirror  with 
the  spring.  He  was  scarcely  in  his  office,  when  he  heard 
some  one  knocking  violently  at  the  door,  and  a well-known 
voice  crying,  — 

“ Open  the  door,  Monseigneur ! I entreat  you  open 
the  door ! ” 

Fouquet  quickly  restored  a little  order  to  everything 
which  might  reveal  either  his  absence  or  his  agitation  ; 
he  spread  his  papers  over  the  desk,  took  up  a pen,  and,  to 
gain  time,  said,  through  the  closed  door,  “ Who  are  you  ? ” 

“What!  Monseigneur,  do  you  not  know  me?”  replied 
the  voice. 

“Yes,”  said  Fouquet  to  himself,  — “yes,  my  friend, 
I know  you  well  enough.”  And  then  aloud:  “Is  it  not 
Gourville  ? ” 

“ Why,  yes,  Monseigneur.” 

Fouquet  rose,  darted  a last  look  at  one  of  his  mirrors, 
went  to  the  door,  pushed  the  bolt ; and  Gourville  entered. 

“ Ah,  Monseigneur  ! Monseigneur  ! ” said  he,  “ what 
cruelty ! ” 

“ In  what  ? ” 

“ I have  been  a quarter  of  an  hour  imploring  you  to 
open  the  door,  and  you  would  not  even  answer  me.” 

“ Once  for  all,  you  know  well  that  I will  not  be  dis- 


THE  ABBE  FOUQUET. 


73 


turbed  when  I am  busy.  Now,  although  I might  make 
you  an  exception,  Gourville,  I insist  upon  my  orders  be- 
ing respected  by  others.* 7 

“ Monseigneur,  at  this  moment,  orders,  doors,  bolts, 
and  walls,  — I could  have  broken,  overthrown,  and  split 
them  all ! ” 

“ Ah  ! it  relates  to  some  great  event,  then  *?  ” asked 
Fouquet. 

“ Oh,  I assure  you  it  does,  Monseigneur  ! ” replied 
Gourville. 

“ And  what  is  this  event'?”  said  Fouquet,  a little 
troubled  by  the  agitation  of  his  most  intimate  confidant. 

“ There  is  a secret  Chamber  of  Justice  instituted, 
Monseigneur.” 

“ I know  there  is ; but  do  the  members  meet,  Gourville  ] ” 

“ They  not  only  meet,  but  they  have  passed  a sentence, 
Monseigneur.” 

“ A sentence  ! ” said  the  superintendent,  with  a shud- 
der and  pallor  which  he  could  not  conceal.  “ A sen- 
tence ! — and  against  whom  1 ” 

“ Against  two  of  your  friends.” 

“ Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris,  do  you  mean  1 But  what  sort 
of  a sentence  % ” 

“ Sentence  of  death.” 

“ Passed  ] Oh,  you  must  be  mistaken,  Gourville  ! that 
is  impossible.” 

“ Here  is  a copy  of  the  sentence  which  the  king  is  to 
sign  to-day,  if  he  has  not  already  signed  it.” 

Fouquet  seized  the  paper  eagerly,  read  it,  and  returned 
it  to  Gourville.  “ The  king  will  never  sign  that,”  said  he. 

Gourville  shook  his  head.  “ Monseigneur,  M.  Colbert 
is  a bold  councillor;  do  not  trust  to  that.” 

“ M.  Colbert  again  ! ” cried  Fouquet.  “ How  is  it  that 
that  name  comes  upon  all  occasions  to  torment  my  ears, 


74 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


during  the  last  two  or  three  days  ] You  make  so  trifling 
a subject  of  too  much  importance,  Gourville.  Let  M. 
Colbert  appear,  I will  face  him ; let  him  raise  his  head, 
I will  crush  him  ; but  you  understand,  there  must  be 
an  outline  upon  which  my  look  may  fall,  there  must  be 
a surface  upon  which  my  feet  may  be  placed.” 

“ Patience,  Monseigneur!  for  you  do  not  know  what 
Colbert  is.  Study  him  quickly ; it  is  with  this  dark 
financier  as  it  is  with  meteors,  which  the  eye  never  sees 
completely  before  their  disastrous  rush ; when  we  feel 
them  we  are  dead.” 

“ That  is  going  too  far,  Gourville,”  replied  Fouquet, 
smiling;  “allow  me,  my  friend,  not  to  be  so  easily 
frightened.  M.  Colbert  a meteor!  Corbleu , we  confront 
the  meteor.  Let  us  see  acts,  and  not  words.  What  has 
he  done  h ” 

“ He  has  ordered  two  gibbets  of  the  executioner  of 
Paris,”  answered  Gourville,  quietly. 

Fouquet  raised  his  head,  and  a flash  seemed  to  strike 
his  eyes.  “ Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say  h ” cried  he. 

“ Here  is  the  proof,  Monseigneur  ; ” and  Gourville  held 
out  to  the  superintendent  a note  communicated  by  one 
of  the  secretaries  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  who  was  one  of 
Fouquet’s  creatures. 

“ Yes,  that  is  true,”  murmured  the  minister ; “ the 
scaffold  may  be  prepared,  but  the  king  has  not  signed. 
Gourville,  the  king  will  not  sign.” 

“ I will  soon  know,”  said  Gourville. 

“ How  1 ” 

“ If  the  king  has  signed,  the  gibbets  will  be  sent  this 
evening  to  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  in  order  to  be  put  up  and 
ready  by  to-morrow  morning.” 

“Oh,  no,  no  !”  exclaimed  Fouquet,  once  again;  “you 
are  all  deceived,  and  deceive  me  in  turn.  Lyodot  came  to 


THE  ABBE  FOUQUET.  75 

see  me  only  the  day  before  yesterday ; only  three  days 
ago  I received  a present  of  some  Syracuse  wine  from 
poor  D’Eymeris.” 

“What  does  that  prove'?”  replied  Gourville,  “except 
that  the  Chamber  of  Justice  has  been  secretly  assembled, 
has  deliberated  in  the  absence  of  the  accused,  and  that 
the  whole  proceeding  was  finished  when  they  were 
arrested.” 

“But  are  they,  then,  arrested'?’7 

“No  doubt  they  are.” 

“But  where,  when,  how  have  they  been  arrested  ? ” 

. “ Lyodot,  yesterday,  at  daybreak ; D’Eymeris,  the  day 
before  yesterday,  in  the  evening,  as  he  was  returning 
from  the  house  of  his  mistress.  Their  disappearance  had 
disturbed  nobody ; but  M.  Colbert  all  at  once  raised  the 
mask  and  caused  the  affair  to  be  published.  It  is  being 
cried  by  sound  of  trumpet,  at  this  moment,  in  the  streets 
of  Paris  ; and,  in  truth,  Monseigneur,  there  is  scarcely 
anybody  but  yourself  ignorant  of  the  event.” 

Fouquet  began  to  walk  about  his  chamber  with  an  un 
easiness  that  became  more  and  more  painful. 

“ What  do  you  decide  upon,  Monseigneur  ] ” said 
Gourville. 

“ If  it  really  were  as  you  say,  I would  go  to  the  king,” 
exclaimed  Fouquet.  “But  as  I go  to  the  Louvre,  I will 
pass  by  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  We  shall  see  if  the  sentence 
is  signed.” 

“ Incredulity  ! thou  art  the  pest  of  all  great  minds,” 
said  Gourville,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

“ Gourville  ! ” 

“ Yes,”  continued  he ; “ and  thou  ruinest  them,  as  con- 
tagion destroys  the  most  robust  health,  — that  is  to  say, 
in  an  instant.” 

“Let  us  go,”  cried  Fouquet;  “open  the  door,  Gourville!” 


76 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Be  cautious  ! ” said  the  latter;  “ the  Abbe  Fouquet  is 
there.” 

“ Ah,  my  brother ! ” replied  Fouquet,  in  a tone  of  an- 
noyance ; “he  is  there,  is  he  ? He  knows  all  the  ill  news, 
then,  and  is  delighted  to  bring  it  to  me,  as  is  his  custom. 
The  devil  ! if  my  brother  is  there,  my  affairs  are  bad, 
Gourville ; why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  sooner?  I should 
have  been  the  more  readily  convinced.” 

“ Monseigneur  calumniates  him,”  said  Gourville,  laugh- 
ing ; “ if  he  has  come,  it  is  not  with  a bad  intention.” 
“What!  do  you  excuse  him?”  exclaimed  Fouquet; 
“ a fellow  without  a heart,  without  ideas,  a devourer  of 
wealth  ! ” 

“ He  knows  you  are  rich.” 

“ And  would  ruin  me.” 

“ No,  but  he  would  like  to  have  your  purse  ; that  is 
all.” 

“ Enough  ! enough  ! A hundred  thousand  crowns  per 
month,  during  two  years.  Corbleu ! it  is  I that  pay, 
Gourville,  and  I know  my  figures.”  Gourville  began  to 
laugh  in  a silent,  sly  manner.  “ Yes,  you  mean  to  say 
it  is  the  king  who  pays,”  said  the  superintendent. 
“ Ah,  Gourville,  that  is  a vile  joke ; this  is  not  the 
place.” 

“ Monseigneur,  do  not  be  angry.” 

“ Well,  then,  send  away  the  Abbe  Fouquet ; I have  not 
a sou.”  Gourville  made  a step  towards  the  door.  “He 
has  been  a month  without  seeing  me,”  continued  Fouquet ; 
“ why  could  he  not  be  two  months?” 

“ Because  he  repents  of  living  in  bad  company,”  said 
Gourville,  “and  prefers  you  to  all  his  bandits.” 

“Thanks  for  the  preference!  You  make  a strange 
advocate,  Gourville,  to-day,  — the  advocate  of  the  Abbe 
Fouquet ! ” 


THE  ABBE  FOUQUET. 


77 


“ Eh  ! but  everything  and  every  man  has  his  good 
side,  — his  useful  side,  Monseigneur.” 

“ The  bandits  whom  the  abbe  keeps  in  pay  and  drink 
have  their  useful  side,  have  they!  Prove  me  that,  if  you 
please.” 

“ Let  the  circumstance  arise,  Monseigneur,  and  you 
will  be  very  glad  to  have  these  bandits  at  hand.” 

“ You  advise  me,  then,  to  be  reconciled  to  the  abbe'?” 
said  Fouquet,  ironically. 

“ I advise  you,  Monseigneur,  not  to  quarrel  with  a 
hundred  or  a hundred  and  twenty  scapegraces,  who  by 
putting  their  rapiers  end  to  end  would  form  a cordon  of 
steel  capable  of  surrounding  three  thousand  men.” 

Fouquet  darted  a searching  glance  at  Gourville,  and 
passing  before  him,  — “ That  is  all  very  well.  — Let  M. 
TAbbe  Fouquet  be  introduced,”  said  he  to  the  footman. 
“You  are  right,  Gourville.” 

Two  minutes  after,  the  abbe  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
with  profound  reverences.  He  was  a man  of  from  forty 
to  forty -five  years  of  age,  half  churchman,  half  soldier,  — 
a brawler  grafted  upon  an  abbe ; upon  seeing  that  he  had 
not  a sword  by  his  side,  you  might  be  sure  he  had  pistols. 
Fouquet  saluted  him  as  an  elder  brother  rather  than  as  a 
minister. 

“What  can  I do  to  serve  you,  Monsieur  the  Abbe]” 
said  he. 

“ How  you  speak  that  to  me,  Brother  ! ” 

“ I speak  it  like  a man  who  is  in  a hurry,  Monsieur.” 
The  abbe  looked  maliciously  at  Gourville,  and  anxiously 
at  Fouquet,  and  said,  “ I have  three  hundred  pistoles  to  pay 
to  M.  de  Bregi  this  evening,  — a play  debt,  a sacred  debt.” 
“ And  what  else  ] ” said  Fouquet,  bravely  ; for  he  knew 
that  the  Abbe  Fouquet  would  not  have  disturbed  him  for 
such  a trifle. 


78 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ A thousand  to  my  butcher,  who  will  supply  no  more.” 

“ What  more  ? ” 

“ Twelve  hundred  to  my  tailor/7  continued  the  abbe  ; 
“ the  fellow  has  made  me  take  back  seven  suits  of  my 
peopled,  which  compromises  my  livery.  And  my  mistress 
talks  of  replacing  me  with  a farmer  of  the  revenue,  which 
would  be  a humiliation  for  the  Church.” 

“ What  else  is  there?  ” said  Fouquet. 

“ You  will  please  to  remark/7  said  the  abbe,  humbly, 
“ that  I have  asked  nothing  for  myself.77 

“ That  is  considerate,  Monsieur/7  replied  Fouquet ; “ so, 
as  you  see,  I am  waiting.77 

“ And  I ask  nothing,  oh,  no  ! but  it  is  not  because  I 
need  nothing,  I assure  you.77 

The  minister  reflected  a minute.  “ Twelve  hundred 
pistoles  to  the  tailor ; that  seems  a great  deal  for  clothes/7 
said  he. 

“ I maintain  a hundred  men/7  said  the  abbe,  proudly ; 
“ that  is  a burden,  I believe.77 

“Why  a hundred  men? 77  said  Fouquet.  “Are  you  a 
Richelieu  or  a Mazarin,  to  require  a hundred  men  as  a 
guard?  What  use  do  you  make  of  these  hundred  men? 
Speak  ! say  ! 77 

“ And  do  you  ask  me  that  ? 77  cried  the  Abbe  Fouquet. 
“ Ah  ! how  can  you  put  such  a question,  — why  I main- 
tain a hundred  men  ? Ah  ! 77 

“ Why,  yes,  I do  put  that  question  to  you.  What  have 
you  to  do  with  a hundred  men  ? Answer  ! 77 

“ Ingrate  ! 77  continued  the  abbe,  more  and  more  affected. 

“ Explain  yourself.77 

“ Why,  Monsieur  the  Superintendent,  I only  want  one 
valet  de  chambre , for  my  part,  and  even  if  I were  alone, 
could  help  myself  very  well ; but  you,  — you  who  have  so 
many  enemies,  — a hundred  men  are  not  enough  for  me 


THE  ABBE  FOUQUET. 


79 


to  defend  you  with.  A hundred  men  ! — you  ought  to 
have  ten  thousand.  I maintain,  then,  all  these  men  in 
order  that  in  public  places,  in  assemblies,  no  voice  may 
be  raised  against  you  ; and  without  them,  Monsieur,  you 
would  be  loaded  with  imprecations,  you  would  be  torn  to 
pieces,  you  would  not  last  a week,  — no,  not  a week  ; do 
you  hear  1 ” 

“ Ah  ! I did  not  know  you  were  my  champion  to  such 
an  extent,  Monsieur  the  Abbe.” 

“ You  doubt  it ! ” cried  the  abbe.  “ Listen,  then,  to 
what  happened  not  longer  ago  than  yesterday  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Huchette.  A man  was  cheapening  a fowl.” 

“ Well,  how  could  that  injure  me,  Abbe  1 ” 

“ In  this  way.  The  fowl  was  not  fat.  The  purchaser 
refused  to  give  eighteen  sous  for  it,  saying  that  he  could 
not  afford  eighteen  sous  for  the  skin  of  a fowl  of  which 
M.  Fouquet  had  had  all  the  fat.” 

“ Go  on  ! ” 

“ The  joke  caused  a deal  of  laughter,”  continued  the 
abbe,  — “ laughter  at  your  expense,  death  to  all  the  devils  1 
and  the  rabble  crowded  around.  The  joker  added,  ‘ Give 
me  a fowl  fed  by  M.  Colbert,  if  you  like,  and  I will  pay 
all  you  ask  ; 7 and  immediately  there  was  a clapping  of 
hands.  A frightful  scandal,  you  understand,  — a scandal 
which  forces  a brother  to  hide  his  face.” 

Fouquet  colored.  “ And  you  hid  it  ? ” said  the  super- 
intendent. 

“ No ; for  it  so  happened  I had  one  of  my  men  in  the 
crowd,  — a new  recruit  from  the  provinces,  one  M.  de 
Menneville,  whom  I like  very  much.  He  made  his  way 
through  the  press,  saying  to  the  joker  : ‘ By  the  thousand 
beards  ! Monsieur  false  joker,  here ’s  a thrust  for  Col- 
bert ! ’ ‘ And  one  for  Fouquet/  replied  the  joker.  Upon 

which  they  drew,  in  front  of  the  cook’s  shop,  with  a hedge 


80 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


of  the  curious  round  them,  and  five  hundred  as  curious 
at  the  windows.” 

“ Well  ? ” said  Fouquet. 

“Well,  Monsieur,  my  Menneville  spitted  the  joker,  to 
the  great  amazement  of  the  spectators,  and  said  to  the 
cook,  ‘ Take  this  goose,  my  friend  ; it  is  fatter  than  your 
fowl/  That  is  the  way,  Monsieur,”  ended  the  abbe, 
triumphantly,  “in  which  I spend  my  revenues;  I main- 
tain the  honor  of  the  family,  Monsieur.”  Fouquet  hung 
his  head.  “ And  I have  a hundred  as  good  as  he,”  pur- 
sued the  abbe. 

“Very  well,”  said  Fouquet;  “give  your  account  to 
Gourville,  and  remain  here  this  evening.” 

“ Shall  we  have  supper?” 

“Yes,  there  will  be  supper.” 

“ But  the  chest  is  closed.” 

“ Gourville  will  open  it  for  you.  Leave  us,  Monsieur 
the  Abbe,  leave  us.” 

“ Then  we  are  friends,”  said  the  abbe,  with  a bow. 

“ Oh,  yes  ! friends.  — Come,  Gourville  I ” 

“ Are  you  going  out  ? You  will  not  sup,  then  ? ” 

“ I shall  be  back  in  an  hour ; never  fear,  Abbe.”  Then, 
aside  to  Gourville,  “ Let  them  harness  my  English  horses,” 
said  he,  “ and  direct  the  coachman  to  stop  at  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  de  Paris.” 


M.  DE  LA  FONTAINE’S  WINE. 


81 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

m.  de  la  fontaine’s  wine. 

Carriages  were  already  bringing  Fouquet’s  guests  to  St. 
Mande,  already  the  whole  household  were  animated  with 
the  preparations  for  supper,  when  the  superintendent 
launched  his  fleet  horses  upon  the  road  to  Paris ; and 
going  by  the  quays  in  order  to  meet  with  fewer  people 
on  his  route,  he  reached  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  It  wanted 
a quarter  to  eight.  Fouquet  alighted  at  the  corner  of 
the  Rue  de  Long-pont,  and  on  foot  directed  his  course 
towards  the  Place  de  Greve,  accompanied  by  Gourville. 
At  the  turning  into  the  Place,  they  saw  a man  dressed 
in  black  and  violet,  of  good  mien,  who  was  preparing  to 
get  into  a hired  carriage,  and  was  telling  the  coachman 
to  stop  at  Vincennes.  He  had  before  him  a large  hamper 
filled  with  bottles,  which  he  had  just  purchased  at  the 
pot-house  with  the  sign  of  “ L’lmage  de  Notre-Dame.” 

“ Eh  ! but  that  is  Vatel,  my  steward  ! ” said  Fouquet 
to  Gourville. 

“ Yes,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the  latter. 

“ What  can  he  have  been  doing  at  the  sign  of  L’lmage 
de  Notre-Dame  1 ” 

‘‘Buying  wine,  no  doubt.” 

“ What  ! buy  wine  for  me  at  a pot-house ! ” said  Fou- 
quet. “ My  cellar,  then,  must  be  in  a miserable  condi- 
tion ! ” and  he  advanced  towards  the  steward,  who  was  ar- 
ranging his  bottles  in  the  carriage  with  the  minutest  care. 

“ Holloa,  Vatel ! ” said  he,  in  the  voice  of  a master. 

VOL.  II.  — 6 


82 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Take  care,  Monseigneur  ! ” said  Gourville  ; “you  will 
be  recognized.” 

“ Well ! Of  what  consequence  ] — Vatel ! ” 

The  man  dressed  in  black  and  violet  turned  round. 
He  had  a mild  and  good  countenance,  without  expression, 
— that  of  a mathematician,  less  the  pride.  A certain  fire 
sparkled  in  the  eyes  of  this  personage,  a rather  sly  smile 
played  round  his  lips;  but  the  observer  might  soon  have 
noticed  that  this  fire  and  this  smile  applied  to  nothing, 
enlightened  nothing.  Vatel  laughed  like  an  absent  man, 
and  amused  himself  like  a child.  At  the  sound  of  his 
master’s  voice,  he  turned  round,  exclaiming,  “ Oh  ! 
Monseigneur ! ” 

“Yes,  it  is  I.  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here, 
Vatel  ] Wine  ! You  are  buying  wine  at  a pot-house  in 
the  Place  de  Greve ! ” 

“ But,  Monseigneur,”  said  Vatel,  quietly,  after  having 
darted  a hostile  glance  at  Gourville,  “ why  am  I inter- 
fered with  here*?  Is  my  cellar  kept  in  bad  order]” 

“ No,  Vatel,  certainly  not;  but — ” 

“ But  what]  ” replied  Vatel. 

Gourville  touched  the  elbow  of  Fouquet. 

“ Don’t  be  angry,  Vatel;  I thought  my  cellar  — your 
cellar  — sufficiently  well  stocked  for  us  to  be  able  to  dis- 
pense with  having  recourse  to  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame.” 
“Eh,  Monsieur,”  said  Vatel,  sinking  from  Monseigneur 
to  Monsieur  with  a degree  of  disdain  ; “your  cellar  is  so 
well  stocked  that  when  certain  of  your  guests  dine  with 
you  they  have  nothing  to  drink.” 

Fouquet,  in  great  surprise,  looked  at  Gourville,  then 
at  Vatel.  “ What  do  you  mean  by  that  ] ” 

“ I mean  that  your  butler  had  not  wines  for  all  tastes, 
Monsieur;  and  that  M.  de  la  Fontaine,  M.  Pellisson,  and 
M.  Conrart  do  not  drink  when  they  come  to  the  house,  — 


M.  DE  LA  FONTAINE’S  WINE. 


83 


those  Messieurs  do  not  like  strong  wine.  What  is  to  be 
done,  then  h ” 

“ Well,  and  so  1 ” 

“ Well,  then,  I have  found  here  a vin  de  Joigny , which 
they  like.  I know  they  come  once  a week  to  drink  at  the 
Image  de  Notre-Dame.  That  is  the  reason  why  I get  this 
supply.” 

Fouquet  had  no  more  to  say  ; he  was  almost  convinced. 
Yatel,  on  his  part,  had  much  more  to  say,  without 
doubt ; and  it  was  plain  he  w^as  getting  warm.  “ It  is 
just  as  if  you  would  reproach  me,  Monseigneur,  for  going 
myself  to  the  Rue  Planche-Mibray  to  fetch  the  cider  M. 
Loret  drinks  when  he  comes  to  dine  at  your  house.” 

“ Loret  drinks  cider  at  my  house  ! ” exclaimed  Fouquet, 
laughing. 

“ Certainly  he  does,  Monsieur  ; and  that  is  the  reason 
why  he  likes  to  dine  there.” 

“ Yatel,”  cried  Fouquet,  grasping  the  hand  of  his  stew- 
ard, “you  are  a man  ! I thank  you,  Yatel,  for  having 
understood  that  at  my  house  M.  de  la  Fontaine,  M.  Con- 
rart,  and  M.  Loret  are  as  great  as  dukes  and  peers,  as 
great  as  princes,  greater  than  myself.  Yatel,  you  are  a 
good  servant,  and  I double  your  salary.” 

Yatel  did  not  even  thank  his  master ; he  merely  shrugged 
his  shoulders  a little,  murmuring  this  superb  sentiment : 
“ To  be  thanked  for  having  done  one’s  duty  is  humiliating.” 
“He  is  right,”  said  Gourville,  as  he  drew  Fouquet’s 
attention,  by  a gesture,  to  another  point.  He  showed 
him  a low-built  cart,  drawn  by  two  horses,  upon  which 
rocked  two  strong  gibbets,  bound  together  back  to  back 
by  chains,  while  an  archer,  seated  upon  the  thickness  of 
the  post,  underwent,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  his  head 
bent  down,  the  comments  of  a hundred  vagabonds,  who 
guessed  the  destination  of  the  gibbets,  and  wrere  escorting 


84 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


them  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  Fouquet  started.  “ It  is 
decided,  you  see,”  said  Gourville. 

“ But  it  is  not  done,”  replied  Fouquet. 

“ Oh,  do  not  delude  yourself,  Monseigneur  ; if  they 
have  thus  lulled  your  friendship  and  your  suspicions,  — if 
things  have  gone  so  far,  you  will  undo  nothing.” 

“ But  I have  not  ratified.” 

“M.  de  Lyonne  has  ratified  for  you.” 

“ I will  go  to  the  Louvre.” 

“ Oh,  no,  you  will  not  ! ” 

“Would  you  advise  such  baseness?”  cried  Fouquet. 
“ Would  you  advise  me  to  abandon  my  friends  ? Would 
you  advise  me,  while  able  to  fight,  to  throw  the  arms  I 
have  in  my  hand  to  the  ground  ? ’ ’ 

“I  do  not  advise  you  to  do  anything  of  the  kind,  Mon- 
seigneur. Are  you  in  a position  to  give  up  the  post  of 
superintendent  at  this  moment  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Well,  if  the  king  wishes  to  displace  you  — ” 
u He  will  displace  me  absent  as  well  as  present.” 

“ Yes,  but  you  will  never  have  insulted  him.” 

“ Yes,  but  I shall  have  been  base.  Now,  I am  not  will- 
ing that  my  friends  should  die  ; and  they  shall  not  die  ! ” 
“ For  that  is  it  necessary  you  should  go  to  the  Louvre  ? ” 
“ Gourville  ! ” 

“ Beware  ! once  at  the  Louvre,  you  will  be  forced  to 
defend  your  friends  openly,  — that  is  to  say,  to  make  a pro- 
fession of  faith ; or  you  will  be  forced  to  abandon  them 
irrevocably.” 

“ Never  ! ” 

“Pardon  me,  — the  king  will  propose  the  alternative 
to  you  imperatively,  or  else  you  will  propose  it  to  him 
yourself.” 

“ That  is  true.” 


M.  DE  LA  FONTAINE’S  WINE. 


85 


“ That  is  the  reason  why  conflict  must  he  avoided.  Let 
us  Teturn  to  St.  Mande,  Monseigneur.” 

“ Gourville,  I will  not  stir  from  this  place,  where  the 
crime  is  to  be  carried  out,  where  my  disgrace  is  to  be  ac- 
complished ; I will  not  stir,  I say,  till  I have  found  some 
means  of  combating  my  enemies.” 

“ Monseigneur,”  replied  Gourville,  “ you  would  excite 
my  pity,  if  I did  not  know  you  to  be  one  of  the  great 
spirits  of  this  world.  You  possess  a hundred  and  fifty 
millions ; you  are  equal  to  the  king  in  position,  and  a hun- 
dred and  fifty  millions  his  superior  in  money.  M.  Colbert 
has  not  even  had  the  wit  to  have  the  will  of  Mazarin  ac- 
cepted. Now,  when  a man  is  the  richest  person  in  a 
kingdom,  and  will  take  the  trouble  to  spend  money,  if 
that  be  done  which  he  does  not  like,  it  is  because  he  is  a 
poor  man.  Let  us  return  to  St.  Mande,  I tell  you.” 

“To  consult  with  Pellisson'?  We  will.” 

“No,  Monseigneur;  to  count  your  money.” 

“ So  be  it ! ” said  Fouquet,  with  his  eyes  inflamed. 
“Yes,  yes,  to  St.  Mande!” 

He  got  into  his  carriage  again,  and  Gourville  with  him. 
Upon  their  road,  at  the  end  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine, 
they  overtook  the  humble  equipage  of  Yatel,  who  was 
quietly  conveying  his  vin  de  Joigny.  The  black  horses, 
going  at  a swift  pace,  alarmed,  as  they  passed,  the  timid 
hack  of  the  steward,  who,  putting  his  head  out  at  the 
window,  cried,  in  a fright,  “ Look  out  for  my  bottles  ! ” 


86 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  GALLERY  OF  ST.  MAND^. 

Fifty  persons  were  waiting  for  the  superintendent.  He 
did  not  even  take  the  time  to  place  himself  in  the  hands 
of  his  valet  dechambre  for  a minute,  but  from  the  vestibule 
went  straight  into  the  first  drawing-room.  There  his 
friends  were  assembled  in  full  chat.  The  steward  was 
waiting  to  order  supper  to  be  served ; but,  above  all,  the 
Abbe  Fouquet  was  watching  for  his  brother’s  return,  and 
was  endeavoring  to  do  the  honors  of  the  house  in  his 
absence.  Upon  the  arrival  of  the  superintendent,  a mur- 
mur of  joy  and  affection  was  heard  : Fouquet,  full  of 
affability,  good  humor,  and  munificence,  was  beloved  by 
his  poets,  his  artists,  and  his  men  of  business.  His  brow, 
upon  which  his  little  court  read,  as  upon  that  of  a god, 
all  the  movements  of  his  soul,  and  thence  drew  rules  of 
conduct, — his  brow,  upon  which  affairs  of  State  never 
impressed  a wrinkle,  was  this  evening  paler  than  usual, 
and  more  than  one  friendly  eye  remarked  that  paleness. 
Fouquet  placed  himself  at  the  centre  of  the  table,  and 
presided  gayly  during  supper.  He  told  about  Vatel’s 
expedition  to  La  Fontaine;  he  related  the  history  of 
Menneville  and  the  thin  fowl  to  Pellisson,  in  such  a man- 
ner that  all  the  table  heard  it.  A tempest  of  laughter 
and  jokes  ensued,  which  was  only  checked  by  a serious 
and  even  sad  gesture  from  Pellisson. 

The  Abbe  Fouquet,  not  being  able  to  comprehend  why 
his  brother  should  have  led  the  conversation  in  that 


THE  GALLERY  OF  ST.  MANDE. 


87 


direction,  listened  with  all  his  ears,  and  sought  in  the 
countenance  of  Gourville,  or  in  that  of  his  brother,  an 
explanation  which  neither  afforded  him. 

Pellisson  took  up  the  matter.  “Did  they  mention  M. 
Colbert,  then  ? ” said  he. 

“Why  not,”  replied  Fouquet,  “if  it  be  true,  as  it  is 
said  to  be,  that  the  king  has  made  him  his  intendant  v 

Scarcely  had  Fouquet  uttered  these  words,  pronounced 
with  a marked  intention,  when  an  explosion  broke  forth 
among  the  guests. 

“ The  miser  ! ” said  one. 

“ The  mean,  pitiful  fellow  !”  said  another. 

“ The  hypocrite  ! ” said  a third. 

Pellisson  exchanged  a meaning  look  with  Fouquet. 
“ Messieurs,”  said  he,  “ in  truth  we  are  abusing  a man 
whom  no  one  knows,  — that  is  neither  charitable  nor 
reasonable  ; and  here  is  Monsieur  the  Superintendent, 
who,  T am  sure,  agrees  with  me.” 

“Entirely,”  replied  Fouquet.  “Let  M.  Colbert’s  fat 
fowls  alone;  our  business  to-day  is  with  M.  Yatel’s 
truffled  pheasants. ” 

This  speech  dispelled  the  dark  cloud  which  was  be- 
ginning to  throw  its  shade  over  the  guests.  Gourville 
succeeded  so  well  in  animating  the  poets  with  the  vin 
de  Joigny , and  the  abbe,  intelligent  as  a man  who 
stands  in  need  of  another’s  gold-pieces,  so  enlivened  the 
financiers  and  men  of  the  sword,  that,  amid  the  vapors  of 
this  joy  and  the  noise  of  conversation  the  subject  of  un- 
easiness disappeared  completely.  The  will  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin  was  the  text  of  the  conversation  at  the  second 
course  and  dessert ; then  Fouquet  ordered  dishes  of  pre- 
served fruit  and  fountains  of  liqueurs  to  be  carried  into 
the  hall  adjoining  the  gallery.  He  led  the  way  thither, 
conducting  by  the  hand  a lady,  — the  queen,  by  his 


88 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


preference,  of  the  evening.  The  musicians  then  took 
their  supper ; and  promenading  in  the  gallery  and  in  the 
garden  began,  beneath  a spring  sky,  amid  mild  and  per- 
fumed breezes. 

Pellisson  then  approached  the  superintendent,  and 
said,  “ Something  troubles  Monseigneur  ? ” 

“ Greatly,”  replied  the  minister ; “ ask  Gourville  to  tell 
you  what  it  is.” 

Pellisson,  on  turning  round,  found  La  Fontaine  tread- 
ing upon  his  heels.  He  was  obliged  to  listen  to  a Latin 
verse  which  the  poet  had  composed  upon  Yatel.  La 
Fontaine  had  for  an  hour  been  scanning  this  verse  in 
every  corner,  seeking  some  one  to  pour  it  out  upon 
advantageously.  He  thought  he  had  caught  Pellisson, 
but  the  latter  escaped  him  ; he  turned  towards  Loret, 
who  had  himself  just  composed  a quatrain  in  honor 
of  the  supper  and  the  host.  La  Fontaine  in  vain  en- 
deavored to  dispose  of  his  verses ; Loret  wanted  to 
obtain  a hearing  for  his  quatrain.  He  was  obliged  to 
retire  before  M.  le  Comte  de  Chanost,  whose  arm  Fouquet 
had  just  taken.  The  Abbe  Fouquet  perceived  that  the 
poet,  as  absent  as  usual,  was  about  to  follow  the  two 
talkers ; and  he  interposed.  La  Fontaine  seized  upon 
him,  and  recited  his  verses.  The  abbc,  who  did  not  know 
Latin,  nodded  his  head,  in  cadence,  at  every  roll  which 
La  Fontaine  imparted  to  his  body,  according  to  the  undu- 
lations of  the  dactyls  and  spondees.  While  this  was 
going  on  behind  the  fruit-dishes,  Fouquet  related  the 
event  of  the  day  to  his  son-in-law,  M.  de  Chanost. 

“ We  must  send  the  idle  and  useless  to  look  at  the 
fireworks,”  said  Pellisson  to  Gourville,  “ while  we  converse 
here.” 

“ So  be  it,”  said  Gourville,  addressing  four  words  to 
Yatel. 


THE  GALLERY  OF  ST.  MANDE. 


89 


The  latter  then  led  towards  the  gardens  the  greater 
part  of  the  beaux,  the  ladies,  and  the  chatterers ; while 
the  men  walked  in  the  gallery,  lighted  by  three  hun- 
dred wax-lights,  in  the  sight  of  all  the  admirers  of 
fireworks,  who- were  running  off  to  the  garden.  Gourville 
approached  Fouquet,  and  said,  “ Monsieur,  we  are  all 
here.” 

“AH'?”  said  Fouquet. 

“ Yes  ; count ! ” 

The  superintendent  turned  and  counted ; there  were 
eight  persons.  Pellisson  and  Gourville  walked  arm  in 
arm,  as  if  conversing  upon  indifferent  subjects.  Loret 
and  two  officers  imitated  them,  going  in  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. The  Abbe  Fouquet  walked  alone.  Fouquet,  with 
M.  de  Chanost,  walked  as  if  entirely  absorbed  by  the  con- 
versation of  his  son-in-law.  “ Messieurs,”  said  he,  “let 
no  one  of  you  raise  his  head  as  he  walks,  or  appear  to 
pay  attention  to  me;  continue  walking.  We  are  alone; 
listen  to  me  ! ” 

A complete  silence  ensued,  disturbed  only  by  the  dis- 
tant cries  of  the  happy  guests,  from  the  groves  whence 
they  beheld  the  fireworks.  It  was  an  odd  spectacle  this, 
that  of  these  men  walking  in  groups,  as  if  each  one  were 
occupied  about  something,  while  lending  attention  really 
to  only  one  among  them,  who  himself  seemed  to  be  speak- 
ing only  to  his  companion. 

“ Messieurs,”  said  Fouquet,  “ you  have,  without  doubt, 
noticed  the  absence  of  two  of  my  friends  this  evening,  who 
were  with  us  on  Wednesday.  For  God’s  sake,  Abbe,  do 
not  stop,  — it  is  not  necessary,  to  enable  you  to  listen ; 
walk  on,  carrying  your  head  in  a natural  way;  and  as 
you  have  an  excellent  sight,  place  yourself  at  the  .open 
window,  and  if  any  one  returns  towards  the  gallery,  give 
us  notice  by  coughing.”  The  abbe  obeyed. 


90 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I have  not  remarked  the  absent,”  said  Peliisson,  who 
at  this  moment  was  turning  his  back  to  Fouquet,  and 
walking  the  other  way. 

“ I do  not  see  M.  Lyodot,”  said  Loret,  “ who  pays  me 
my  pension.  ” 

“And  I,”  said  the  abbe,  at  the  window,  “do  not  see 
M.  d’Eymeris,  who  owes  me  eleven  hundred  livres  from 
our  last  game  at  brelan.” 

“ Loret,”  continued  Fouquet,  walking  bent  and  gloom- 
ily, “you  will  never  receive  your  pension  any  more  from 
Lyodot ; and  you,  Abbe,  will  never  be  paid  your  eleven 
hundred  livres  by  D’Eymeris  : for  both  are  about  to 
die.” 

“ To  die  ! ” exclaimed  the  whole  assembly,  stopped,  in 
spite  of  themselves,  in  the  scene  they  were  playing,  by 
that  terrible  word. 

“Recover  yourselves,  Messieurs,”  said  Fouquet;  “for 
perhaps  we  are  watched  : I said,  to  die  ! ” 

“ To  die  ! ” repeated  Peliisson  ; “ what  ! the  men  I saw 
not  six  days  ago,  full  of  health,  gayety,  and  confidence  ! 
What,  then,  is  man,  good  God  ! that  disease  should  thus 
bring  him  down  all  at  once]  ” 

“ It  is  not  a disease,”  said  Fouquet. 

“ Then  there  is  a remedy,”  said  Loret. 

“No  remedy.  Messieurs  Lyodot  and  d’Eymeris  are 
on  the  eve  of  their  last  day.” 

“ Of  what  are  these  gentlemen  dying,  then  I”  asked  an 
officer. 

“Ask  of  him  who  kills  them,”  replied  Fouquet. 

“Who  kills  them]  Are  they  being  killed,  then]” 
cried  the  terrified  chorus. 

“ They  do  better  still ; they  are  hanging  them,”  mur- 
mured Fouquet,  in  a sinister  voice,  which  sounded  like  a 
fuileral  knell  in  that  rich  gallery,  splendid  with  pictures, 


THE  GALLERY  OF  ST.  MANDE. 


91 


flowers,  velvet,  and  gold.  Involuntarily  every  one  stopped  ; 
the  abbe  left  his  window  ; the  first  rockets  of  the  fireworks 
began  to  mount  above  the  tops  of  the  trees.  A prolonged 
shout  from  the  gardens  attracted  the  superintendent  to 
enjoy  the  spectacle.  He  drew  near  to  a window,  and  his 
friends  placed  themselves  behind  him,  attentive  to  his 
least  wish.  “ Messieurs,  ” said  he,  “M.  Colbert  has  caused 
to  be  arrested,  has  tried,  and  will  execute  my  two  friends  ; 
what  does  it  become  me  to  do?” 

“ Mordioux  ! ” exclaimed  the  abbe,  the  first  to  speak ; 
“ run  M.  Colbert  through  the  body.” 

“Monseigneur,”  said  Pellisson,  “you  must  speak  to  his 
Majesty.” 

“ The  king,  my  dear  Pellisson,  has  signed  the  order  for 
the  execution.” 

“Well!  ” said  the  Comte  de  Chanost,  “the  execution 
must  not  take  place,  then  ; that  is  all.” 

“ Impossible  ! ” said  Gourville,  “ unless  we  could  corrupt 
the  jailers.” 

“ Or  the  governor,”  said  Fouquet. 

“ This  night  the  prisoners  might  be  allowed  to  escape.” 
“ Which  of  you  will  undertake  the  transaction  ? ” 

“I,”  said  the  abbe,  “ will  carry  the  money.” 

“ And  I,”  said  Pellisson,  “ will  carry  the  message.” 
“Words  and  money,”  said  Fouquet:  “five  hundred 
thousand  livres  to  the  governor  of  the  conciergerie , that 
is  sufficient ; nevertheless,  it  shall  be  a million,  if 
necessary.” 

“A  million!”  cried  the  abbe;  “why,  for  less  than 
that,  I would  cause  the  half  of  Paris  to  be  sacked.” 

“ There  must  be  no  disorder,”  said  Pellisson.  “ The 
governor  being  won  over,  the  two  prisoners  will  escape  ; 
once  clear  of  the  fangs  of  the  law,  they  will  call  to- 
gether the  enemies  of  Colbert,  and  prove  to  the  king 


92 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE 


that  his  young  justice,  like  all  other  exaggerations,  is 
not  infallible.” 

“ Go  to  Paris,  then,  Pellisson,”  said  Fouquet,  “ and 
bring  hither  the  two  victims  ; to-morrow  we  shall  see.  — 
Gourville,  give  Pellisson  the  five  hundred  thousand 
livres.” 

“ Take  care  the  wind  does  not  carry  you  away  ! ” said 
the  abbe.  “ What  a responsibility  ! Let  me  help  you  a 
little.” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  Fouquet,  “ somebody  is  coming.  Ah  ! 
the  fireworks  are  producing  a magical  effect.” 

At  this  moment  a shower  of  sparks  fell  rustling  among 
the  branches  of  the  neighboring  trees.  Pellisson  and 
Gourville  went  out  together  by  the  door  of  the  gallery; 
Fouquet  descended  with  the  others  to  the  garden. 


THE  EPICUREANS. 


93 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  EPICUREANS. 

While  Fouquet  was  giving,  or  appearing  to  give,  all  his 
attention  to  the  brilliant  illuminations,  the  languishing 
music  of  the  violins  and  hautboys,  the  sparkling  sheaves 
of  fireworks,  which,  inflaming  the  heavens  with  glowing 
reflections,  marked  behind  the  trees  the  dark  profile  of 
the  donjon  of  Vincennes,  — while,  we  say,  the  superin- 
tendent was  smiling  on  the  ladies  and  the  poets,  the  fete 
was  not  less  gay  than  ordinary;  and  Vatel,  whose  rest- 
less, even  jealous,  look  earnestly  consulted  the  eye  of 
Fouquet,  did  not  appear  dissatisfied  with  the  reception 
given  to  the  ordering  of  the  evening’s  entertainment. 

The  fireworks  over,  the  company  dispersed  about  the 
gardens  and  beneath  the  marble  porticos,  with  that  care- 
less freedom  which  shows  in  the  master  of  the  house 
such  forgetfulness  of  greatness,  courteous  hospitality,  and 
magnificent  unconcern.  The  poets  wandered  about,  arm 
in  arm,  through  the  groves ; some  reclined  upon  beds  of 
moss,  to  the  great  detriment  of  velvet  clothes  and  curled 
heads,  into  which  little  dried  leaves  and  blades  of  grass 
insinuated  themselves.  The  ladies,  in  small  numbers, 
listened  to  the  songs  of  the  singers  and  the  verses  of  the 
poets ; others  listened  to  the  prose,  spoken  with  much 
art,  of  men  who  were  neither  actors  nor  poets,  but  to 
whom  youth  and  solitude  gave  an  unaccustomed  eloquence, 
which  appeared  to  them  preferable  to  all. 

“ Why,”  said  La  Fontaine,  “ does  not  our  master 


94 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Epicurus  descend  into  the  garden  % Epicurus  never 
abandoned  his  pupils ; the  master  is  wrong.*7 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Conrart,  “you  are  very  wrong  in  per- 
sisting to  claim  the  name  of  an  Epicurean  ; indeed,  noth- 
ing here  reminds  me  of  the  doctrine  of  the  philosopher  of 
Gargetta.” 

“Bah!7 7 said  La  Fontaine,  “is  it  not  written  that 
Epicurus  purchased  a large  garden,  and  lived  in  it  tran- 
quilly with  his  friends'?77 

“ That  is  true.77 

“ Well,  has  not  M.  Fouquet  purchased  a large  garden 
at  St.  Mande,  and  do  we  not  live  here  very  tranquilly 
with  him  and  his  friends  *? 77 

“Yes,  without  doubt.  Unfortunately,  it  is  neither  the 
garden  nor  the  friends  which  can  make  the  resemblance. 
Now,  what  likeness  is  there  between  the  doctrine  of 
Epicurus  and  that  of  M.  Fouquet'?77 

“ This,  — pleasure  gives  happiness.77 

“ Next.’7 

“ Well,  I do  not  think  we  ought  to  consider  ourselves  un- 
fortunate, — for  my  part,  at  least.  A good  repast,  — vin 
de  Joigny , which  they  have  the  delicacy  to  go  and  fetch 
for  me  from  my  favorite  public-house  ; not  one  imperti- 
nence heard  during  a supper  of  an  hour  long,  in  spite  of 
the  presence  of  ten  millionnaires  and  twenty  poets  ! 77 

“ Stop  there  ! You  mentioned  vin  de  Joigny  and  a good 
repast ; do  you  persist  in  that  % 77 

“ I persist,  — anteco , as  they  say  at  Port  Boyal.77 

“ Then  please  to  recollect  that  the  great  Epicurus  lived, 
and  made  his  pupils  live,  upon  bread,  vegetables,  and 
clear  water.77 

“That  is  not  certain,77  said  La  Fontaine;  “and  you 
may  be  confounding  Epicurus  with  Pythagoras,  my  dear 
Conrart.77 


THE  EPICUREANS. 


95 


“Remember,  likewise,  that  the  ancient  philosopher  was 
rather  a bad  friend  of  the  gods  and  the  magistrates.” 

“ Oh,  I cannot  admit  that,”  replied  La  Fontaine.  “ Epi- 
curus was  like  M.  Fouquet.” 

“ Do  not  compare  him  to  Monsieur  the  Superintend- 
ent,” said  Conrart,  in  an  agitated  voice,  “ or  you  would 
accredit  the  reports  which  are  circulated  concerning  him 
and  us.” 

“ What  reports  1 ” 

“ That  we  are  bad  Frenchmen,  lukewarm  with  regard 
to  the  monarch,  deaf  to  the  law.” 

“ I return,  then,  to  my  text,”  said  La  Fontaine.  “ Lis- 
ten, Conrart ! This  is  the  morality  of  Epicurus,  whom, 
besides,  I consider,  if  I must  tell  you  so,  a myth.  All 
which  touches  the  least  upon  antiquity  is  a myth.  Jupi- 
ter, if  we  give  a little  attention  to  it,  is  life.  Alcides  is 
strength.  The  words  are  there  to  bear  me  out : 4 Zeus,’ 
that  is  zen,  to  live ; 4 Alcides,’  that  is  alee , vigor.  Well, 
4 Epicurus  ; ’ that  is  mild  watchfulness,  that  is  protection. 
Now,  who  watches  better  over  the  State,  or  who  protects 
individuals  better,  than  M.  Fouquet'?” 

“ You  talk  etymology,  and  not  morality ; I say  that 
we  modern  Epicureans  are  troublesome  citizens.” 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  La  Fontaine,  “ if  we  become  trouble- 
some citizens,  it  will  not  be  in  following  the  maxims  of 
our  master.  Listen  to  one  of  his  principal  aphorisms,  — 
4 Wish  for  good  leaders.’  ” 

“Well?” 

44 Well,  what  does  M.  Fouquet  say  to  us  every  day? 
4 When  shall  we  be  governed '?  ’ Does  he  say  so  ? Come, 
Conrart,  be  frank  ! ” 

44  He  says  so,  certainly.” 

44  Well,  that  is  a doctrine  of  Epicurus.” 

“ Yes;  but  that  is  a little  seditious,  observe.” 


96 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“How? — seditious  to  wish  to  be  governed  by  good 
leaders  ? ” 

“Certainly,  when  those  who  govern  are  bad.” 

“ Patience  ! I have  a reply  for  all.” 

“ Even  for  that  I have  just  said  to  you  ? ” 

“ Listen  ! ‘ Would  you  submit  to  those  who  govern  ill  ? 9 
Oh  ! it  is  written  : Cacos  politeuousi.  You  grant  me  the 
text?” 

“ Pardieu  ! I think  so.  Do  you  know  that  you  speak 
Greek  as  well  as  JEsop  did,  my  dear  La  Fontaine  ? ” 
“Is  there  any  wickedness  in  that,  my  dear  Conrart?” 
“God  forbid  ! ” 

“ Then  let  us  return  to  M.  Fouquet.  What  did  he 
repeat  to  us  all  daylong?  Was  it  not  this:  ‘What  a 
vulgar  pedant  is  that  Mazarin  ! what  an  ass  ! what  a 
leech  ! We  must,  however,  submit  to  the  fellow  ! 5 Now, 
Conrart,  did  he  say  so,  or  did  he  not  ? ” 

“ I confess  that  he  said  it,  and  even  perhaps  too 
often.” 

“ Like  Epicurus,  my  friend,  still  like  Epicurus.  I repeat, 
we  are  Epicureans;  and  that  is  very  amusing.” 

“Yes;  but  I am  afraid  there  will  rise  up,  by  the  side 
of  us,  a sect  like  that  of  Epictetus.  You  know  him  well, 
— the  philosopher  of  Hieropolis,  — he  who  called  bread 
luxury,  vegetables  prodigality,  and  clear  water  drunken- 
ness ; he  who  being  beaten  by  his  master,  said  to  him, 
grumbling  a little  it  is  true,  but  without  being  very 
angry,  ‘ I will  lay  a wager  you  have  broken  my  leg ! ’ 
and  he  won  his  wager.” 

“ He  was  a gosling,  that  Epictetus  ! ” 

“ Granted  ; but  he  might  easily  become  the  fashion  b}^ 
only  changing  his  name  into  that  of  Colbert.” 

“Bah!”  replied  La  Fontaine,  “that  is  impossible; 
never  will  you  find  Colbert  in  Epictetus.” 


THE  EPICUREANS. 


97 


“ You  are  right ; I shall  find — Coluber  [serpent]  there, 
at  the  most.” 

“ Ah!  you  are  beaten,  Conrart ; you  are  reduced  to  a 
,play  upon  words.  M.  Arnault  pretends  that  I have  no 
logic ; I have  more  than  M.  FTicolle.” 

“ Yes,”  retorted  Conrart ; “ you  have  logic,  but  you  are 
a Jansenist.” 

This  argument  was  hailed  by  an  immense  shout  of 
laughter.  By  degrees  the  promenaders  had  been  attracted 
by  the  exclamations  of  the  two  quibblers  around  the  arbor 
under  which  they  were  arguing.  All  the  discussion  had 
been  listened  to  with  religious  silence ; and  Fouquet  him- 
self, scarcely  able  to  suppress  his  laughter,  had  given  an 
example  of  moderation.  But  the  denouement  of  the  scene 
threw  off  all  restraint ; he  laughed  aloud.  Everybody 
laughed  as  he  did,  and  the  two  philosophers  received 
unanimous  felicitations.  La  Fontaine,  however,  was  de- 
clared conqueror,  on  account  of  his  profound  erudition 
and  his  irrefragable  logic.  Conrart  obtained  the  compen- 
sation due  to  an  unsuccessful  combatant,  — he  was 
praised  for  the  loyalty  of  his  intentions  and  the  purity 
of  his  conscience. 

At  the  moment  when  this  mirth  was  manifesting  itself 
by  the  most  lively  demonstrations,  — at  the  moment  when 
the  ladies  were  reproaching  the  two  adversaries  with  not 
having  admitted  women  into  the  system  of  Epicurean 
happiness,  — Gourville  was  seen  hastening  from  the  other 
end  of  the  garden,  approaching  Fouquet,  who  surveyed 
him  anxiously,  and  detaching  him,  by  his  presence  alone, 
from  the  group.  The  superintendent  preserved  upon  his 
face  the  smile  and  the  expression  of  unconcern ; but  as 
soon  as  they  had  withdrawn  from  view  he  threw  off  the 
mask.  “Well/’  said  he,  eagerly,  “where  is  Pellisson? 
What  is  he  doing?” 

VOL.  II.  —7 


98 


THE  VICOMTE  1)E  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Pellisson  has  returned  from  Paris.” 

“ Has  he  brought  back  the  prisoners  'l  ” 

“He  has  not  even  seen  the  concierge  of  the  prison.” 

“ What ! did  he  not  tell  him  he  came  from  me  ? ” 

“ He  told  him  so  ; but  the  concierge  sent  him  this  reply  : 
‘ If  any  one  came  to  me  from  M.  Fouquet,  he  would  have  a 
letter  from  M.  Fouquet.’  ” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  the  latter,  “ if  a letter  is  all  he  wants  — ” 
“ Never,  Monsieur,”  said  Pellisson,  showing  himself 
at  the  corner  of  the  little  wood,  “ never  ! Go  yourself, 
and  speak  in  your  own  name.” 

“You  are  right.  I will  go  into  the  house,  as  if  to  work  ; 
let  the  horses  remain  harnessed,  Pellisson.  Entertain  my 
friends,  Gourville.” 

“ One  last  word  of  advice,  Monseigneur,”  replied  the 
latter. 

“ Speak,  Gourville  ! ” 

“ Do  not  go  to  the  concierge  but  at  the  last  minute ; it 
is  brave,  but  it  is  not  wise.  Excuse  me,  M.  Pellisson,  if 
I am  not  of  the  same  opinion  as  you  ; but  believe  me, 
Monseigneur,  send  again  a message  to  this  concierge , — 
he  is  a worthy  man,  — but  do  not  carry  it  yourself.” 

“I  will  think  of  it,”  said  Fouquet;  “besides,  we  have 
the  whole  night  before  us.” 

“ Do  not  reckon  too  much  upon  time ; were  the  time 
we  have  double  what  it  is,  it  would  not  be  too  much,” 
replied  Pellisson.  “ It  is  never  a fault  to  arrive  too  soon.” 
“ Adieu  ! ” said  the  superintendent.  “ Come  with  me, 
Pellisson  ! Gourville,  I commend  my  guests  to  your 
care  ; ” and  he  set  off.  The  Epicureans  did  not  perceive 
that  the  head  of  the  school  had  disappeared  5 the  violins 
continued  playing  all  night. 


A QUARTER  OF  AN  HOUR’S  DELAY. 


99 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A QUARTER  OF  AN  HOUR’S  DELAY. 

Fouquet,  on  leaving  his  house  for  the  second  time  that 
day,  felt  less  heavy  and  less  disturbed  than  might 
have  been  expected.  He  turned  towards  Pellisson,  who 
wTas  gravely  meditating  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage 
some  good  arguments  against  the  violent  proceedings  of 
Colbert. 

“ My  dear  Pellisson, ” said  Fouquet,  “ it  is  a great  pity 
you  are  not  a woman.” 

“I  think,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  very  fortunate,”  re- 
plied Pellisson;  “for,  Monseigneur,  I am  excessively 
ugly.” 

“ Pellisson  ! Pellisson  ! ” said  the  superintendent,  laugh- 
ing, “ you  repeat  so  often  that  you  are  ugly,  that  you  may 
lead  people  to  believe  it  gives  you  much  pain.” 

In  fact  it  does,  Monseigneur,  much.  There  is  no  man 
more  unfortunate  than  I.  I was  handsome  ; the  small- 
pox rendered  me  hideous ; I am  deprived  of  a great 
means  of  seduction.  Now  I am  your  chief  clerk,  or  some- 
thing of  that  sort.  I take  great  interest  in  your  affairs ; 
and  if  at  this  moment  I were  a pretty  woman,  I could 
render  you  an  important  service.” 

“ What  h ” 

“ I would  go  and  find  the  concierge  of  the  Palais. 
I would  seduce  him,  — for  he  is  a gallant  man,  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  women ; then  I would  get  away  our  two 
prisoners.” 


100 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I hope  to  be  able  to  do  so  myself,  although  I am  not 
a pretty  woman,”  replied  Fouquet. 

“ Granted,  Monseigneur  ; but  you  are  compromising 
yourself  greatly.” 

“ Oh  ! ” cried  Fouquet,  suddenly,  with  one  of  those 
secret  transports  which  the  generous  blood  of  youth  or 
the  remembrance  of  some  sweet  emotion  infuses  into  the 
heart, — “ oh  ! I know  a woman  who  will  enact  the  per- 
sonage we  stand  in  need  of  with  the  lieutenant-governor 
of  the  conciergerie .” 

“ And  on  my  part  I know  fifty,  Monseigneur,  — fifty 
trumpets,  who  will  inform  the  universe  of  your  gener- 
osity, of  your  devotion  to  your  friends,  and  consequently 
will  ruin  you  sooner  or  later  while  ruining  themselves.” 

“ I do  not  speak  of  such  women,  Pellisson.  I speak  of 
a noble  and  beautiful  creature  who  joins  to  the  intelli- 
gence and  wit  of  her  sex  the  worth  and  coolness  of 
ours  ; I speak  of  a woman  handsome  enough  to  make  the 
walls  of  a prison  bow  down  to  salute  her,  of  a woman 
discreet  enough  to  let  no  one  suspect  by  whom  she  has 
been  sent.” 

“ A treasure!”  said  Pellisson;  “you  would  make  a 
famous  present  to  Monsieur  the  governor  of  the  concier- 
gerie ! Peste  ! Monseigneur,  he  might  have  his  head  cut 
off,  — that  might  happen  ; but  he  would,  before  dying,  have 
had  such  happiness  as  man  never  enjoyed  before  him.” 

“And  I add,”  said  Fouquet,  “that  the  concierge  of 
the  Palais  would  not  have  his  head  cut  off ; for  he  would 
receive  of  me  my  horses  to  effect  his  escape,  and  five 
hundred  thousand  livres  wherewith  to  live  comfortably  in 
England.  I add  that  this  woman,  my  friend,  would  give 
him  nothing  but  the  horses  and  the  money.  Let  us  go 
and  seek  this  woman,  Pellisson.” 

The  superintendent  reached  forth  his  hand  towards  the 


A QUARTER  OF  AN  HOUR’S  DELAY. 


101 


gold  and  silken  cord  placed  inside  his  carriage,  but  Pellis- 
son  stopped  him.  “ Monseigneur,”  said  he,  “ you  are 
going  to  lose  as  much  time  in  seeking  this  woman  as  Co- 
lumbus took  to  discover  the  new  world.  Now,  we  have 
but  two  hours  in  which  we  can  possibly  succeed  ; the 
concierge  once  gone  to  bed,  how  shall  we  get  at  him  with- 
out making  a disturbance  ? When  daylight  dawns,  how 
can  we  conceal  our  proceedings  ? Go,  Monseigneur,  go 
yourself,  and  do  not  seek  either  woman  or  angel  to-night.” 

“ But,  my  dear  Pellisson,  here  we  are  before  her  door.” 

“ What ! before  the  angel’s  door  ? ” 

“ Why,  yes.” 

“ This  is  the  hotel  of  Madame  de  Belliere ! ” 

“ Hush  ! ” 

“ Ah  ! Good  Lord  ! ” exclaimed  Pellisson. 

“ What  have  you  to  say  against  her'?”  demanded 
Fouquet. 

“ Nothing,  alas  ! and  it  is  that  which  makes  me  de- 
spair. Nothing,  absolutely  nothing.  Why  can  I not,  on 
the  contrary,  say  ill  enough  of  her  to  prevent  your  going 
to  her?” 

But  Fouquet  had  already  given  orders  to  stop,  and  the 
carriage  was  motionless.  “ Prevent  me  ! ” cried  Fouquet ; 
“ why,  no  power  on  earth  should  prevent  my  going  to 
pay  my  compliments  to  Madame  de  Plessis-Belliere  ; be- 
sides, who  knows  that  we  shall  not  stand  in  need  of  her  ? 
Will  you  go  in  with  me  ? ” 

“ No,  Monseigneur,  no  ! ” 

“ But  I do  not  wish  you  to  wait  for  me,  Pellisson,”  re- 
plied Fouquet,  with  sincere  courtesy. 

“ The  greater  reason  why  I should,  Monseigneur ; 
knowing  that  you  are  keeping  me  waiting,  you  will  per- 
haps stay  a shorter  time.  Take  care  ! You  see  there  is 
a carriage  in  the  courtyard  ; she  has  some  one  with  her.” 


102 


THE  Vf COMTE  DE  BHAGELONNE. 


Fouquet  leaned  towards  the  step  of  the  carriage.  “ One 
word  more/’  cried  Pellisson ; “ do  not  go  to  this  lady  till 
you  have  been  to  the  conciergerie , for  heaven’s  sake  ! ” 

“Eh  ! five  minutes,  Pellisson,”  replied  Fouquet,  alight- 
ing at  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  leaving  Pellisson  in  the  car- 
riage in  a very  ill  humor. 

Fouquet  ran  upstairs,  told  his  name  to  the  footman, 
which  excited  an  eagerness  and  a respect  that  showed  the 
habit  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  of  honoring  that  name 
in  her  family. 

“ Monsieur  the  Superintendent,”  exclaimed  the  mar- 
chioness, advancing,  very  pale,  to  meet  him  ; “ what  an 
honor  ! what  an  unexpected  pleasure  ! ” said  she.  Then 
in  a low  voice,  “ Take  care ! Marguerite  Vanel  is 
here  ! ” 

“ Madame,”  replied  Fouquet,  rather  agitated,  “I  came 
upon  business.  One  single  word,  in  haste,  if  you  please  ! ” 
and  he  entered  the  salon. 

Madame  Yanel  had  risen,  more  pale,  more  livid,  than 
Envy  herself.  Fouquet  in  vain  addressed  her  with  the 
most  agreeable,  most  pacific  salutation  ; she  only  replied 
by  a terrible  glance  darted  at  the  marchioness  and 
Fouquet.  This  keen  glance  of  a jealous  woman  is  a 
stiletto  which  pierces  every  cuirass ; Marguerite  Yanel 
plunged  it  straight  into  the  hearts  of  the  two  confidants. 
She  made  a courtesy  to  her  friend , a more  profound  one 
to  Fouquet,  and  took  leave,  under  pretence  of  having  a 
great  number  of  visits  to  make,  without  the  marchioness, 
or  M.  Fouquet,  each  a prey  to  anxiety,  trying  to  prevent 
her.  She  was  scarcely  out  of  the  room,  and  Fouquet  left 
alone  with  the  marchioness,  when  he  threw  himself  on 
his  knees  without  saying  a word. 

“ I expected  you,”  said  the  marchioness,  with  a tender 
sigh. 


A QUARTER  OF  AN  HOUR’S  DELAY. 


103 


“ Oh,  no/’  cried  he,  “ or  you  would  have  sent  away 
that  woman.” 

“ She  has  been  here  scarcely  a quarter  of  an  hbur,  and 
I had  no  suspicion  she  would  come  this  evening.” 

“ You  do  love  me  a little,  then,  Marchioness'?  ” 

“ That  is  not  the  question  now,  Monsieur  ; it  is  of  your 
danger.  How  are  your  affairs  going  on?” 

“ I am  going  this  evening  to  get  my  friends  out  of  the 
Palais  prisons.” 

“ How  will  you  do  that  ?” 

“By  buying  and  seducing  the  governor.” 

“ He  is  a friend  of  mine ; can  I assist  you  without 
injuring  you?” 

“ Oh,  Marchioness,  it  would  be  a signal  service ; but 
how  can  you  be  employed  without  being  compromised  ? 
Now,  never  shall  my  life,  my  power,  or  even  my  liberty 
be  purchased  at  the  expense  of  a single  tear  from  your 
eyes,  or  of  a single  pain  to  your  heart ! ” 

“ Monseigneur,  speak  no  more  such  words  ! They  bewil- 
der me.  I am  culpable  in  having  wished  to  serve  you 
without  foreseeing  how  far  my  advances  might  lead.  I 
love  you,  in  reality,  as  a tender  friend,  and  as  a friend 
I am  grateful  for  your  delicate  attentions  ; but,  alas ! 
alas ! you  will  never  find  a mistress  in  me.” 

“Marchioness!”  cried  Fouquet,  in  a tone  of  despair, 
“ why  not  ? ” 

" Because  you  are  too  much  beloved,”  said  the  young 
woman,  in  a low  voice ; “ because  you  are  too  much 
beloved  by  too  many  people ; because  the  splendor  of 
glory  and  fortune  wound  my  eyes,  while  the  darkness  of 
sorrow  attracts  them  ; because,  in  short,  I,  who  have  re- 
pulsed you  in  your  proud  magnificence,  — I,  who  scarcely 
looked  at  you  in  your  splendor,  — I came,  like  a mad 
woman,  to  throw  myself  as  it  were  into  your  arms,  when 


104 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


I saw  a misfortune  hovering  over  your  head.  You  un- 
derstand me  nowq  Monseigneur'?  Become  happy  again, 
that  I may  again  become  chaste  in  heart  and  in  thought. 
Your  misfortunes  wTould  ruin  me!  ” 

“Oh,  Madame,”  said  Fouquet,  with  an  emotion  he 
had  never  before  felt,  “ w^ere  I to  fall  to  the  last  degree 
of  human  misery,  and  should  I hear  from  your  mouth 
that  wrord  which  you  now  refuse  me,  that  day,  Madame, 
you  will  be  mistaken  in  your  noble  egotism ; that  day 
you  will  fancy  you  are  consoling  the  most  unfortunate  of 
men,  and  you  will  have  said  I love  you  to  the  most  illus- 
trious, the  most  delighted,  the  most  triumphant  of  the 
happy  beings  of  this  world.” 

He  was  still  at  her  feet,  kissing  her  hand,  when  Pellis- 
son  entered  precipitately,  exclaiming,  in  very  ill  humor, 
“ Monseigneur  ! Madame  ! for  heaven’s  sake  ! excuse  me. 
Monseigneur,  you  have  been  here  half  an  hour.  Oh,  do 
not  both  look  at  me  so  reproachfully  ! Madame,  pray 
who  is  that  lady  who  left  your  house  soon  after  Mon- 
seigneur came  in  ] ” 

“Madame  Vanel,”  said  Fouquet. 

“ There  ! ” cried  Pellisson,  “ I wTas  sure  of  it.” 

“Well!  what  then*” 

“ Why,  she  got  into  her  carriage  looking  deadly 
pale.” 

“ Of  what  consequence  is  that  to  me  1 ” 

“Yes;  but  what  she  said  to  her  coachman  is  of  conse- 
quence to  you.” 

“ Oh,  heavens  ! ” cried  the  marchioness,  “ what  was 
that  ? ” 

“ ‘ To  M.  Colbert’s  ’ ! ” said  Pellisson,  in  a hoarse  voice. 
“ Good  heavens  ! go,  Monseigneur,  go  ! ” replied  the 
marchioness,  pushing  Fouquet  out  of  the  salon,  while 
Pellisson  dragged  him  by  the  hand. 


A QUARTER  OF  AN  HOUR’S  DELAY. 


105 


“Ami,  then,  indeed,”  said  the  superintendent,  “ be- 
come a child,  to  be  frightened  by  a shadow  1 ” 

“You  are  a giant,”  said  the  marchioness,  “ whom  a 
viper  is  endeavoring  to  bite  on  the  heel.” 

Pellisson  continued  to  drag  Fouquet  on  to  the  carriage. 

“To  the  Palais  at  full  speed  ! ” cried  Pellisson  to  the 
coachman. 

The  horses  set  off  like  lightning ; no  obstacle  retarded 
their  pace  for  an  instant.  Only  at  the  Arcade  St.  Jean, 
as  they  were  coming  out  upon  the  Place  de  Greve,  a long 
file  of  horsemen,  barring  the  narrow  passage,  stopped  the 
superintendent’s  carriage.  There  was  no  means  of  forcing 
this  barrier  ; it  was  necessary  to  wait  till  the  mounted 
archers  of  the  watch  — for  it  was  they  who  stopped  the 
way  — had  passed  with  the  heavy  carriage  they  were 
escorting,  and  which  ascended  rapidly  towards  the  Place 
Baudoyer.  Fouquet  and  Pellisson  took  no  further  ac- 
count of  this  circumstance  beyond  deploring  the  minute’s 
delay  they  had  to  submit  to.  They  entered  the  lodge  of 
the  concierge  of  the  palace  five  minutes  after. 

That  officer  was  still  walking  about  in  the  front  court. 
At  the  name  of  Fouquet,  whispered  in  his  ear  by  Pellisson, 
the  governor  eagerly  approached  the  carriage,  and,  hat  in 
hand,  was  profuse  in  his  obeisances.  “ What  an  honor 
for  me,  Monseigneur  ! ” said  he. 

“ One  word,  Monsieur  the  Governor  ! Will  you  take  the 
trouble  to  get  into  my  carriage  !i  ” The  officer  placed  him- 
self opposite  Fouquet  in  the  coach.  “Monsieur;”  said 
Fouquet,  “ I have  a service  to  ask  of  you.” 

“Speak,  Monseigneur!” 

“A  service  which  will  compromise  you,  Monsieur,  but 
which  will  assure  to  you  forever  my  protection  and  my 
friendship.” 

“Were  it  to  cast  myself  into  the  fire  for  you,  Mon- 
seigneur, I would  doit.” 


106 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Well,”  said  Fouquet,  “what  I require  is  much  more 
simple.” 

“That  being  so,  Monseigneur,  what  is  it?” 

“To  conduct  me  to  the  chamber  of  Messieurs  Lyodot 
and  d’Eymeris.” 

“ Will  Monseigneur  have  the  kindness  to  say  for  what 
purpose  ? ” 

“ I will  tell  you  in  their  presence,  Monsieur,  at  the 
same  time  that  I will  give  you  ample  means  of  palliating 
this  escape.” 

“ Escape  ! W7hy,  then,  Monseigneur  does  not  know  ? ” 

“ What  ? ” 

“ That  Messieurs  Lyodot  and  d’Eymeris  are  no  longer 
here.  ” 

“Since  when?  ” cried  Fouquet,  in  great  agitation. 

“ About  a quarter  of  an  hour.” 

“Whither  have  they  gone,  then?” 

“To  Vincennes,  — to  the  donjon.” 

“ Who  took  them  from  here  ? ” 

“ An  order  from  the  king.” 

“ Oh ! woe  ! woe  ! ” exclaimed  Fouquet,  striking  his 
forehead  ; and  without  saying  a single  word  more  to  the 
governor,  he  threw  himself  back  in  his  carriage,  despair 
in  his  heart  and  death  on  his  countenance. 

“Well!”  said  Pellisson,  with  great  anxiety. 

“Our  friends  are  lost.  Colbert  is  conveying  them  to 
the  donjon.  It  was  they  who  crossed  our  passage  un- 
der the  Arcade  St.  Jean.” 

Pellisson,  struck  as  with  a thunderbolt,  made  no  reply. 
With  a single  reproach  he  would  have  killed  his  master. 

“Where  is  Monseigneur  going?”  inquired  the  footman. 

“ Home,  to  Paris.  — You,  Pellisson,  return  to  St.  Mande, 
and  bring  the  Abbe  Fouquet  to  me  within  an  hour.  Go  ! ” 


FLAN  OF  BATTLE. 


107 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PLAN  OF  BATTLE. 

The  night  was  already  far  advanced  when  the  Abbe 
Fouquet  joined  his  brother.  Gourville  had  accompanied 
him.  These  three  men,  pale  with  apprehension,  resem- 
bled less  three  powers  of  that  period  than  three  con- 
spirators, united  by  one  and  the  same  thought  of 
violence. 

Fouquet  walked  back  and  forth  for  a long  time,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  striking  his  hands  one  against 
the  other.  At  length,  taking  courage,  in  the  midst  of 
a deep,  long  sigh,  “Abbe,”  said  he,  “you  were  speaking 
to  me,  only  to-day,  of  certain  people  you  maintain  V' 
“Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  abbe. 

“ Tell  me  precisely  who  these  people  are.”  The  abbe 
hesitated.  “ Come  ! no  fear,  I am  not  threatening ; no 
romancing,  I am  not  joking.” 

“ Since  you  demand  the  truth,  Monseigneur,  here  it  is  : 
I have  a hundred  and  twenty  friends,  or  companions  of 
pleasure,  who  are  devoted  to  me  as  the  thief  is  to  the 
gallows.” 

“ And  you  think  you  can  depend  upon  them  ? ” 

“ Entirely.” 

“ And  you  will  not  compromise  yourself  1 ” 

“ I will  not  even  make  my  appearance.” 

“ And  are  they  men  of  resolution  1 ” 

“ They  would  burn  Paris,  if  I promised  them  they  should 
not  be  burned  in  turn.” 


108 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ The  thing  I ask  of  you,  Abbe,”  said  Fouquet,  wiping 
the  sweat  which  fell  from  his  brow,  “ is  to  throw  your 
hundred  and  twenty  men  upon  the  people  I will  point  out 
to  you,  at  a certain  appointed  moment.  Is  it  possible  1 ” 

“ It  will  not  be  the  first  time  such  a thing  has  happened 
to  them,  Monseigneur.” 

“ That  is  well ; but  would  these  bandits  attack  an 
armed  force  ? ” 

“ They  are  used  to  that.” 

“ Then  get  your  hundred  and  twenty  men  together, 
Abbe.” 

“ Directly.  But  where  ? ” 

“ On  the  road  to  Yincennes,  to-morrow,  at  two  o’clock, 
precisely.” 

“ To  carry  off  Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris?  There  will  be 
blows  to  receive  ! ” 

“ A number,  no  doubt ; are  you  afraid  ? ” 

“Not  for  myself,  but  for  you.” 

“Your  men  will  know,  then,  what  they  have  to  do?” 

“ They  are  too  intelligent  not  to  guess  it.  Nowr,  a 
minister  who  gets  up  a riot  against  his  king  exposes 
himself — ” 

“ Of  what  importance  is  that  to  you,  if  I pay  for  it  ? 
Besides,  if  I fall,  you  fall  with  me.” 

“ It  would  then  be  more  prudent,  Monsieur,  not  to 
stir  in  the  affair,  and  leave  the  king  to  take  this  little 
satisfaction.” 

“ Think  well  of  this,  Abbe.  Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris  at 
Yincennes  are  a prelude  of  ruin  for  my  house.  I repeat 
it,  — I arrested,  you  will  be  imprisoned  ; I imprisoned, 
you  will  be  exiled.” 

“Monsieur,  I am  at  your  orders ; have  you  any  to  give 
me?” 

“ What  I told  you,  — I wish  that,  to-morrow,  the  two 


PLAN  OF  BATTLE. 


109 


financiers  of  whom  they  mean  to  make  victims  while 
there  remain  so  many  criminals  unpunished,  should  be 
snatched  from  the  fury  of  my  enemies.  Take  your  meas- 
ures accordingly.  Is  it  possible  ? ” 

“ It  is  possible.” 

“ Describe  your  plan.” 

“ It  is  of  rich  simplicity.  The  ordinary  guard  at  exe* 
cutions  consists  of  twelve  archers.’’ 

“ There  will  be  a hundred  to-morrow.” 

“I  reckon  so.  I even  say  more, — there  will  be  two 
hundred.” 

“ Then  your  hundred  and  twenty  men  will  not  be 
enough.” 

“ Pardon  me.  In  every  crowd  composed  of  a hundred 
thousand  spectators,  there  are  ten  thousand  bandits  or 
cutpurses;  only,  they  dare  not  take  the  initiative.” 
“Well?” 

“ There  will  then  be,  to-morrow,  on  the  Place  de  Greve, 
which  I choose  as  my  battle-field,  ten  thousand  auxilia- 
ries to  my  hundred  and  twenty  men.  The  attack  began 
by  the  latter,  the  others  will  finish  it.” 

“ That  all  appears  feasible ; but  what  will  be  done 
with  regard  to  the  prisoners  upon  the  Place  de  Greve  ? ” 

“ This  : they  must  be  thrust  into  some  house  on  the 
Place,  — that  will  make  a siege  necessary  to  get  them  out 
again.  And  stop  ! here  is  another  idea,  more  sublime 
still  : some  houses  have  two  exits  — one  upon  the  Place, 
and  the  other  into  the  Rue  de  la  Mortellerie,  or  de  la 
Vannerie,  or  de  la  Tixeranderie.  The  prisoners,  entering 
by  one  door,  will  go  out  at  another.” 

“ Yes ; but  fix  upon  something  positive.” 

“ I am  seeking  to  do  so.” 

“ And  I,”  exclaimed  Fouquet,  — “I  have  found  it.  Lis- 
ten to  what  has  occurred  to  me  at  this  moment.” 


110 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I am  listening.* 1 

Fouquet  made  a sign  to  Gourville,  who  appeared  to  un- 
derstand. “ One  of  my  friends  lends  me  sometimes  the 
keys  of  a house  which  he  rents,  in  the  Eue  Baudoyer,  the 
spacious  gardens  of  which  extend  behind  a certain  house 
of  the  Place  de  Greve.” 

“ That  is  the  place  for  us,”  said  the  abbe.  “What 
house  1 ” 

“ A pot-house,  pretty  well  frequented,  whose  sign  rep- 
resents the  image  of  Notre-Dame.” 

“ I know  it,”  said  the  abbe. 

“ This  pot-house  has  windows  opening  upon  the  Place, 
a place  of  exit  into  the  court,  which  must  abut  upon  the 
gardens  of  my  friend  by  a door  of  communication.” 

“ Good  ! ” said  the  abbe. 

“ Enter  by  the  pot-house  ; take  the  prisoners  in  ; defend 
the  door  while  you  enable  them  to  escape  by  the  garden 
and  the  Place  Baudoyer.” 

“ That  is  all  plain.  Monsieur,  you  would  make  an  ex- 
cellent general,  like  the  prince.” 

“ Have  you  understood  me  ? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“How  much  will  it  take  to  make  your  bandits  all 
drunk  with  wine,  and  to  satisfy  them  with  gold  1 ” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  what  an  expression  ! Oh,  Monsieur,  if 
they  heard  you  ! Some  of  them  are  very  susceptible.” 

“ I mean  to  say  they  must  be  made  no  longer  to  know 
the  heavens  from  the  earth  : for  I shall  to-morrow  con- 
tend with  the  king ; and  when  I fight  I mean  to  conquer, 
— please  to  understand.” 

“ It  shall  be  done,  Monsieur.  Give  me  your  other 
ideas.” 

“ The  rest  is  your  business.” 

“ Then  give  me  your  purse.” 


PLAN  OF  BATTLE. 


Ill 


“ Gourville,  count  out  a hundred  thousand  livres  for 
the  abbe  ! ” 

“ Good  ! and  do  not  be  at  all  sparing,  did  you  not  say  'l ” 
“You  are  right/ ’ 

“ So  much  the  better.” 

“Monseigneur,”  objected  Gourville,  “if  this  should  be 
known,  we  should  lose  our  heads.” 

“ Eh  ! Gourville,”  replied  Fouquet,  purple  with  anger, 
“ you  excite  my  pity.  Speak  for  yourself,  if  you  please. 
My  head  does  not  shake  in  that  manner  upon  my  shoul- 
ders. Now,  Abbe,  is  everything  arranged  1 ” 

“ Everything.” 

“ At  two  o’clock  to-morrow.” 

“ At  twelve,  because  it  will  be  necessary  to  prepare  our 
auxiliaries  in  a secret  manner.” 

“ That  is  true ; do  not  spare  the  innkeeper’s  wine.” 

“ I will  spare  neither  his  wine  nor  his  house,”  replied 
the  abbe,  with  a sneering  laugh.  “ I have  my  plan,  I 
tell  you ; leave  me  to  set  it  in  operation,  and  you  shall 
see.” 

“Where  shall  you  be  yourselH” 

“ Everywhere ; nowhere.” 

“ And  how  shall  I receive  information  1 ” 

“ By  a courier,  whose  horse  shall  be  kept  in  the  very 
garden  of  your  friend.  By  the  way,  the  name  of  your 
friend  1 ” 

Fouquet  looked  again  at  Gourville.  The  latter  came 
to  the  aid  of  his  master,  saying,  “Accompany  Monsieur 
the  Abbe  for  several  reasons.  However,  the  house  is 
easily  found,  — the  ‘ Image  de  Notre-Dame  ’ in  the  front ; 
a garden,  the  only  one  in  the  quarter,  behind.” 

“ Good  ! good  ! I will  go  and  give  notice  to  my  soldiers.” 
“Accompany  him,  Gourville,”  said  Fouquet,  “and 
count  him  down  the  money  ! One  moment,  Abbe,  — one 


112 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


moment,  Gourville,  — what  name  will  be  given  to  this 
carrying  off?  ” 

“ A very  natural  one,  Monsieur,  — the  riot.” 

“The  riot  on  account  of  what?  For  if  ever  the  people 
of  Paris  are  disposed  to  pay  their  court  to  the  king,  it  is 
when  he  hangs  financiers.” 

“ I will  manage  that,”  said  the  abbe. 

“Yes;  but  you  may  manage  it  badly,  and  people  will 
guess.” 

“ Not  at  all,  not  at  all.  I have  another  idea.” 

“What  is  that?” 

“ My  men  shall  cry  out,  ‘ Colbert ! vive  Colbert!’  and 
shall  throw  themselves  upon  the  prisoners  as  if  they 
would  tear  them  in  pieces,  and  shall  drag  them  from  the 
gibbets,  as  too  mild  a punishment.” 

“ Ah,  that  is  truly  an  idea  ! ” said  Gourville.  “ Peste  ! 
Monsieur  the  Abbe,  what  an  imagination  you  have ! ” 
“Monsieur,  we  are  worthy  of  our  family,”  returned 
the  abbe,  proudly. 

“ Strange  fellow  ! ” murmured  Fouquet.  Then  he  added  : 
“ That  is  ingenious.  Carry  it  out,  but  shed  no  blood.” 
Gourville  and  the  abbe  went  off  together,  with  their 
heads  full  of  the  meditated  riot.  The  superintendent  lay 
down  upon  some  cushions,  partly  thinking  over  the  sinis- 
ter projects  of  the  morrow,  partly  dreaming  of  love. 


THE  POT-HOUSE, 


113 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  POT-HOUSE  OF  THE  IMAGE  DE  NOTRE-DAME. 

At  two  o’clock  the  next  day  fifty  thousand  spectators 
had  taken  their  position  upon  the  Place  around  the  two 
gibbets  which  had  been  elevated  between  the  Quai  de  la 
Greve  and  the  Quai  Pelletier,  — one  close  to  the  other, 
with  their  backs  to  the  parapet  of  the  river.  In  the 
morning,  also,  all  the  sworn  criers  of  the  good  city  of 
Paris  had  traversed  the  quarters  of  the  city,  particularly 
the  markets  and  the  outskirts,  announcing  with  their 
hoarse  and  untiring  voices  the  great  justice  to  be  done 
by  the  king  upon  two  peculators,  two  thieves,  devourers 
of  the  people.  And  these  people,  whose  interests  were 
so  warmly  looked  after,  in  order  not  to  fail  in  respect  to 
their  king,  left  shops,  stalls,  and  workrooms,  to  go  and 
evince  a little  gratitude  to  Louis  XIV.,  — for  all  the  world 
like  invited  guests  who  fear  to  commit  an  incivility  in 
not  repairing  to  the  house  of  him  who  invited  them. 
According  to  the  tenor  of  the  sentence,  which  the  criers 
read  loudly  and  badly,  two  farmers  of  the  revenues,  mo- 
nopolizers of  money,  wasters  of  the  royal  funds,  extor- 
tioners and  forgers,  were  about  to  undergo  capital  punish- 
ment on  the  Place  de  Greve,  “ with  their  names  placed 
over  their  heads.”  As  to  those  names,  the  sentence 
made  no  mention  of  them.  The  curiosity  of  the  Parisians 
was  at  its  height ; and,  as  we  have  said,  an  immense  crowd 
awaited  with  feverish  impatience  the  hour  fixed  for  the  ex- 
ecution. The  news  had  already  spread  that  the  prisoners, 

VOL.  II.  — 8 


J ! 1 THE  VICO'MTE  DE  BEAGELONNE. 

transferred  to  the  Chateau  of  Vincennes,  would  be  con- 
ducted from  that  prison  to  the  Place  de  Greve.  Con- 
sequently the  Faubourg  and  the  Rue  St.  Antoine  were 
crowded  ; for  the  population  of  Paris  in  those  days  of 
great  executions  was  divided  into  two  classes,  — those 
who  came  to  see  the  condemned  pass  by  (these  were 
timid  and  mild  hearts,  but  curious  in  philosophy),  and 
those  who  wished  to  see  the  condemned  die  (these  were 
hearts  eager  for  emotion). 

On  this  day  M.  d’Artagnan,  having  received  his  last  in- 
structions from  the  king  and  made  his  adieus  to  his  friends, 
the  number  of  whom  was  at  the  moment  reduced  to  Plan- 
chet,  was  planning  out  his  day’s  work,  like  a man  who 
counts  his  minutes  and  appreciates  their  importance. 

“ My  departure  is  to  be,”  said  he,  “ at  break  of  day, 
three  o’clock  in  the  morning.  I have,  then,  fifteen  hours 
before  me.  Take  from  them  the  six  hours  of  sleep  which 
are  indispensable  for  me,  — six  ; one  hour  for  meals,  — 
seven ; one  hour  for  a farewell  visit  to  Athos,  — eight ; 
two  hours  for  chance  circumstances,  — total,  ten.  There 
are  then  five  hours  left.  One  hour  to  get  my  money,  — 
that  is,  to  have  it  refused  me  by  M.  Fouquet;  another 
hour  to  go  and  receive  my  money  of  M.  Colbert,  together 
with  his  questions  and  grimaces ; one  hour  to  look  over 
my  clothes  and  my  arms,  and  get  my  boots  oiled.  I 
have  still  two  hours  left.  Mordioux  ! how  rich  I am  ! ” 
And  so  saying,  D'Artagnan  felt  a strange  joy  — a joy  of 
youth,  a perfume  of  those  great  and  happy  years  of 
former  times  — mount  to  his  brain  and  intoxicate  him. 
“ During  those  two  hours  I will  go,”  said  the  musketeer, 
“ and  collect  my  quarter’s  rent  of  the  Image  de  Notre- 
Dame.  That  will  be  pleasant ! Three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  livres  ! Mordioux  ! but  that  is  astonishing  ! 
If  the  poor  man  who  has  but  one  livre  in  his  pocket, 


THE  POT-HOUSE. 


115 


found  a livre  and  twelve  deniers,  that  would  be  justice, 
that  would  be  excellent ; but  to  the  poor  man  such  a 
windfall  does  not  come.  The  rich  man,  on  the  contrary, 
makes  himself  revenues  with  his  money,  which  he  does 
not  touch.  Here  are  three  hundred  and  seventy-five 
livres  which  fall  to  me  from  heaven.  I will  go,  then,  to 
the  Image  de  Notre-Dame,  and  drink  a glass  of  Spanish 
wine  with  my  tenant,  which  he  cannot  fail  to  offer  me. 
But  order  must  be  observed,  M.  d’Artagnan,  — order  must 
be  observed  ! Let  us  organize  our  time,  therefore,  and 
distribute  the  employment  of  it : Art.  1,  Athos;  i\.rt.  2, 
the  Image  de  Notre-Dame;  Art.  3,  M.  Fouquet;  Art.  4, 
M.  Colbert ; Art.  5,  supper ; Art.  6,  clothes,  boots,  horse, 
portmanteau  ; Art.  7 and  last,  sleep.” 

In  accordance  with  this  programme,  D’Artagnan  then 
went  straight  to  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  to  whom  modestly 
and  ingenuously  he  related  a part  of  his  fortunate  adven- 
tures. Athos  had  not  been  without  uneasiness  on  the 
subject  of  D’Artagnan’s  visit  to  the  king ; but  a few  words 
sufficed  as  an  explanation  of  that.  Athos  divined  that 
Louis  had  charged  D’Artagnan  with  some  important 
mission,  and  did  not  even  make  an  effort  to  draw  the 
secret  from  him.  He  only  recommended  him  to  take 
care  of  himself,  and  offered  discreetly  to  accompany  him, 
if  that  were  desirable. 

“ But,  my  dear  friend,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ I am  going 
nowhere.” 

“ What ! you  come  to  bid  me  adieu,  and  are  going 
nowhere  ? ” 

“ Oh  ! yes,  yes,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  coloring  a little, 
“ I am  going  to  make  a purchase.” 

“ That  is  quite  another  thing.  Then  I change  my 
formula.  Instead  of  4 Do  not  get  yourself  killed,’  I will 
say,  ‘ Do  not  get  yourself  robbed.’  ” 


116 


THE  VrCOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ My  friend,  I will  inform  you  if  I cast  my  eye  upon 
any  property  that  pleases  me,  and  I shall  expect  you  to 
favor  me  with  your  opinion.” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  said  Athos,  too  delicate  to  permit  himself 
even  the  consolation  of  a smile.  Raoul  imitated  the 
paternal  reserve.  But  D’Artagnan  thought  it  would 
appear  too  mysterious  to  leave  his  friends  under  a pre- 
tence, without  even  telling  them  the  route  he  was  about 
to  take. 

“ I have  chosen  Le  Mans,”  said  he  to  Athos.  “ Is  it 
a good  country  % ” 

“ Excellent,  my  friend,”  replied  the  count,  without  call- 
ing to  his  notice  that  Le  Mans  was  in  the  same  direction 
as  La  Touraine,  and  that  by  waiting  two  days  at  most, 
he  might  travel  with  a friend.  But  D’Artagnan,  more 
embarrassed  than  the  count,  sank,  at  every  explanation, 
deeper  into  the  mud,  into  which  he  fell  by  degrees.  “ I 
shall  set  out  to-morrow  at  daybreak,”  said  he,  at  last. 
“Till  that  time,  will  you  come  with  me,  Raoul  1” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier,”  said  the  young  man, 
“if  Monsieur  the  Count  does  not  want  me.” 

“ No,  Raoul ; I am  to  have  an  audience  to-day  of 
Monsieur,  the  king’s  brother.” 

Raoul  asked  Grimaud  for  his  sword,  which  the  old  man 
brought  him  immediately. 

“ Now,  then,”  added  D’Artagnan,  opening  his  arms  to 
Athos,  “ adieu,  my  dear  friend  ! ” Athos  held  him  in  a 
long  embrace  ; and  the  musketeer,  who  knew  his  discre- 
tion so  well,  murmured  in  his  ear,  “ An  affair  of  State,” 
to  which  Athos  only  replied  by  a pressure  of  the  hand, 
still  more  significant.  They  then  separated. 

Raoul  took  the  arm  of  his  old  friend,  who  led  him  along 
the  Rue  St.  Honore.  “ T am  conducting  you  to  the  abode 
of  the  god  Plutus,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  the  young  man  ; 


THE  POT-HOUSE. 


117 


“ prepare  yourself.  All  day  long  you  will  witness  the 
piling  up  of  crowns.  Good  God  ! how  am  I changed  ! ” 

“ What  numbers  of  people  there  are  in  the  street ! ” 
said  Raoul. 

“Is  there  a procession  to-day?”  inquired  D’Artagnan 
of  a lounger. 

“ Monsieur,  it  is  a hanging,”  replied  the  passer-by. 

“ What ! a hanging  at  the  Greve  ? ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Devil  take  the  rogue  who  gets  himself  hung  the  day 
I want  to  go  and  collect  my  rent  ! ” exclaimed  D’Artagnan. 
“ Raoul,  did  you  ever  see  anybody  hung  ?” 

“Never,  Monsieur,  thank  God  I” 

“Oh,  how  young  that  sounds  ! If  you  were  on  guard 
in  the  trenches,  as  I was,  and  a spy  — But,  look  you, 
Raoul,  pardon  me,  I am  doting,  — you  are  quite  right ; 
it  is  a hideous  sight  to  see  a person  hung  ! At  what  hour 
do  they  hang,  Monsieur,  if  you  please  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  stranger,  respectfully,  delighted 
at  joining  conversation  with  two  men  of  the  sword,  “ it 
will  take  place  about  three  o’clock.” 

“ It  is  now  only  half-past  one  ; let  us  lengthen  our  steps. 
We  shall  be  there  in  time  to  collect  my  three  hundred  and 
seventy-five  livres,  and  get  away  before  the  arrival  of  the 
malefactor.” 

“ Malefactors,  Monsieur,”  continued  the  citizen ; “ there 
are  two  of  them.” 

“ Monsieur,  I thank  you  very  much,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
who,  as  he  grew  older,  had  become  polite  to  the  last  degree. 

Drawing  Raoul  along,  he  directed  his  course  rapidly 
in  the  direction  of  La  Greve.  Without  that  great  ex- 
perience which  musketeers  have  of  a crowd,  to  which 
were  joined  an  irresistible  strength  of  wrist  and  an  un- 
common suppleness  of  shoulders,  our  two  travellers  would 


118 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


not  have  arrived  at  their  destination.  They  followed  the 
line  of  the  quay,  which  they  had  reached  on  leaving  the 
Rue  St.  Honore,  where  they  had  taken  leave  of  Athos. 
D’Artagnan  went  first ; his  elbow,  his  wrist,  his  shoulder, 
formed  three  wedges  which  he  knew  how  to  insinuate  with 
skill  into  the  groups,  to  make  them  split  and  separate  like 
pieces  of  wood.  He  often  made  use  of  the  hilt  of  his  sword 
as  an  additional  help  : introducing  it  between  ribs  that 
were  too  rebellious,  making  it  take  the  part  of  a lever 
or  crowbar,  to  separate  husband  from  wife,  uncle  from 
nephew,  and  brother  from  brother.  And  all  this  was 
done  so  naturally,  and  with  such  gracious  smiles,  that 
people  must  have  had  ribs  of  bronze  not  to  cry,  “ Thank 
you  ! ” when  the  hilt  played  about  them  ; or  hearts  of  ada- 
mant not  to  be  enchanted  when  the  bland  smile  beamed 
upon  the  lips  of  the  musketeer.  Raoul,  following  his 
friend,  cajoled  the  women,  who  admired  his  beauty ; 
pushed  back  the  men,  who  felt  the  rigidity  of  his  muscles  ; 
and  both  made  their  way,  thanks  to  these  manoeuvres, 
among  the  rather  compact  mass  of  the  populace. 

They  arrived  in  sight  of  the  two  gibbets,  from  which 
Raoul  turned  away  his  eyes  in  disgust.  As  for  D’Ar- 
tagnan,  he  did  not  even  see  them  : his  house,  with  its 
serrated  gable,  its  windows  crowded  with  the  curious, 
attracted  and  even  absorbed  all  the  attention  he  was 
capable  of.  He  distinguished,  in  the  Place  and  around 
the  houses,  a large  number  of  musketeers  on  leave,  who, 
some  with  women,  others  with  friends,  awaited  the  mo- 
ment of  the  ceremony.  What  rejoiced  him  above  all  was 
to  see  that  his  tenant,  the  innkeeper,  was  so  busy  he  did 
not  know  which  way  to  turn.  Three  lads  could  not  sup- 
ply the  drinkers.  They  filled  the  shop,  the  chambers, 
and  the  court  even. 

D’Artagnan  called  Raoul’s  attention  to  this  concourse, 


THE  POT-HOUSE. 


119 


adding  : “ The  fellow  will  have  no  excuse  for  not  paying 
his  rent.  Look  at  those  drinkers,  Raoul ; one  would  say 
they  were  jolly  companions.  Mordioux  l why,  there  is  no 
room  anywhere  ! ” D’Artagnan,  however,  contrived  to 
catch  hold  of  the  master  by  the  corner  of  his  apron,  and 
to  make  himself  known  to  him. 

“ Ah,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier  ! ” said  the  innkeeper, 
half  distracted,  “ one  minute,  if  you  please  ; I have  here 
a hundred  madmen  turning  my  cellar  upside  down.” 

“ The  cellar,  if  you  like,  but  not  the  money-box.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur,  your  thirty-seven  and  a half  pistoles 
are  all  counted  out  ready  for  you,  upstairs  in  my  cham- 
ber ; but  there  are  in  that  chamber  thirty  customers,  who 
are  sucking  the  staves  of  a little  barrel  of  Oporto  which  I 
tapped  for  them  this  morning.  Give  me  a minute,  — only 
a minute  ! ” 

“Very  well,  very  well.” 

‘T  am  going,”  said  Raoul,  in  a low  voice,  to  D’Ar- 
tagnan  ; “ this  hilarity  is  vile  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  sternly,  “ you  will 
please  to  remain  where  you  are.  The  soldier  ought  to 
familiarize  himself  with  all  kinds  of  spectacles.  There 
are  in  the  eye,  when  it  is  young,  fibres  which  we  must 
learn  how  to  harden  ; and  we  are  not  truly  generous  and 
good  but  from  the  moment  when  the  eye  has  become 
hardened  and  the  heart  remains  tender.  Besides,  my 
little  Raoul,  would  you  leave  me  alone  here  1 That 
would  be  very  unkind  in  you.  Look  ! there  is  yonder,  in 
the  lower  court,  a tree,  and  under  the  shade  of  that  tree 
we  shall  breathe  more  freely  than  in  this  hot  atmosphere 
of  spilt  wine.” 

From  the  spot  on  which  they  had  placed  themselves, 
the  two  new  guests  of  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame  heard 
the  ever-increasing  murmurs  of  the  tide  of  people,  and 


120 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


lost  neither  a shout  nor  a gesture  of  the  drinkers  at  tables 
in  the  drinking-room  or  scattered  through  the  chambers. 
If  D’Artagnan  had  wished  to  place  himself  as  a scout  for 
a reconnoissance,  he  could  not  have  succeeded  better. 
The  tree  under  which  he  and  Raoul  were  seated  covered 
them  with  its  already  thick  foliage;  it  was  a low,  thick 
chestnut-tree,  with  drooping  branches,  which  cast  their 
shade  over  a table  so  broken  that  the  drinkers  had  aban- 
doned it.  We  said  that  from  this  post  D’Artagnan  saw 
everything.  He  observed  the  goings  and  comings  of  the 
waiters ; the  arrival  of  fresh  drinkers ; the  welcome,  some- 
times friendly,  sometimes  hostile,  given  to  certain  new- 
comers by  certain  others  that  were  installed  there.  He 
observed  all  this  to  amuse  himself,  for  the  thirty-seven 
and  a half  pistoles  were  a long  time  coming.  Raoul  re- 
called his  attention  to  it.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ you  do 
not  hurry  your  tenant,  and  the  condemned  will  soon  be 
here.  There  will  then  be  such  a press,  we  shall  not  be 
able  to  get  out.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  the  musketeer. — “ Holloa  ! some- 
body there  ! Mordioux  ! ” But  it  was  in  vain  he  shouted 
and  knocked  upon  the  wreck  of  the  table,  which  fell  to 
pieces  beneath  his  fist;  nobody  came. 

D’Artagnan  was  preparing  to  go  and  find  the  innkeeper 
himself,  to  force  him  to  a definite  explanation,  when  the 
door  of  the  court  in  which  he  was  with  Raoul,  a door 
which  communicated  with  the  garden  situated  at  the 
back,  opened,  creaking  painfully  on  its  rusted  hinges,  and 
a man  dressed  as  a cavalier,  with  his  sword  in  the  sheath 
but  not  at  his  belt,  came  out  of  the  garden,  crossed  the 
court  without  closing  the  door,  and  having  cast  a glance 
at  D’Artagnan  and  his  companion,  proceeded  towards  the 
tavern  itself,  looking  about  in  all  directions,  with  eyes 
capable  of  piercing  walls  or  consciences.  “ Humph  ! ” 


THE  POT-HOUSE. 


121 


said  D’Artagnan,  “my  tenants  are  consulting.  That, 
no  doubt,  now,  is  some  amateur  in  matters  of  hanging.” 
At  the  same  moment  the  shouts  and  uproar  of  the  drink- 
ers in  the  upper  chambers  ceased.  Silence,  under  such 
circumstances,  surprises  more  than  a twofold  increase  of 
noise.  D’Artagnan  wished  to  see  what  was  the  cause  of 
this  sudden  silence.  He  then  perceived  that  this  man, 
dressed  as  a cavalier,  had  just  entered  the  principal 
chamber,  and  was  haranguing  the  tipplers,  who  all  lis- 
tened to  him  ,with  the  greatest  attention.  D’Artagnan 
would  perhaps  have  heard  his  speech  but  for  the  over- 
powering noise  of  the  popular  clamors,  which  made  a 
formidable  accompaniment  to  the  harangue  of  the  orator. 
But  it  was  soon  finished ; and  all  the  people  the  house 
contained  came  out,  one  after  the  other,  in  little  groups, 
so  that  there  remained  only  six  in  the  chamber.  One 
of  these  six,  the  man  with  the  sword,  took  the  inn- 
keeper aside,  engaging  him  in  conversation  more  or  less 
serious ; while  the  others  lit  a great  fire  in  the  chimney- 
place,  — a circumstance  rendered  strange  by  the  fine 
weather  and  the  heat. 

“It  is  very  singular,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  Raoul,  “but 
I think  I know  those  faces  yonder.” 

“ Don’t  you  think  you  can  smell  the  smoke  here  ? ” said 
Raoul. 

a I rather  think  I can  smell  a conspiracy,”  replied 
UArtagnan. 

He  had  not  finished  speaking,  when  four  of  these  men 
came  down  into  the  court,  and  without  the  appearance 
of  any  bad  design  mounted  guard  at  the  door  of  com- 
munication, casting  at  intervals  glances  at  D’Artagnan, 
which  signified  many  things. 

“ Mordioux  I ” said  D’Artagnan,  in  a low  voice,  “ there 
is  something  going  on.  Are  you  curious,  Raoul  ? ” 


122 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ According  to  the  subject,  Chevalier.” 

“Well,  I am  as  curious  as  an  old  woman.  Come  a 
little  more  in  front ; we  shall  get  a better  view  of  the 
place.  I would  lay  a wager  that  view  will  be  somewhat 
interesting.” 

“ But  you  know,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier,  that  I am  not 
willing  to  become  a passive  and  indifferent  spectator  of 
the  death  of  the  two  poor  fellows.” 

“ And  I,  then  ! — do  you  think  I am  a savage  1 We 
will  go  in  again  when  it  is  time  to  do  so.  Come  along  ! ” 
And  they  made  their  way  towards  the  front  of  the  house, 
and  placed  themselves  near  the  window,  which,  still  more 
strange  than  anything  else,  remained  unoccupied. 

The  last  two  drinkers,  instead  of  looking  out  at  this 
window,  kept  up  the  fire.  On  seeing  D’Artagnan  and 
his  friend  enter,  “ Ah  ! ah  ! a reinforcement,”  murmured 
they. 

D’Artagnan  jogged  Raoul’s  elbow.  “ Yes,  my  braves, 
a reinforcement,”  said  he.  “ Cordieu  ! there  is  a famous 
fire.  Whom  are  you  going  to  cook  1 ” 

The  two  men  uttered  a shout  of  jovial  laughter,  and 
instead  of  answering,  threw  on  more  wood.  D’Artagnan 
could  not  take  his  eyes  off  them. 

“ I suppose,”  said  one  of  the  fire-makers,  “ they  sent 
you  to  tell  us  the  time,  — did  they  not  rl  ” 

“ Certainly,”  said  D’Artagnan,  anxious  to  know  what 
was  going  on ; “ why  should  I be  here  else,  if  it  were  not 
for  that  h ” 

“ Then  place  yourself  at  the  window,  if  you  please,  and 
watch.” 

D’Artagnan  smiled  under  his  mustache,  made  a sign  to 
Raoul,  and  stationed  himself  complacently  at  the  window. 


VIVE  COLBERT  ! 


123 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

VIVE  COLBERT ! 

The  spectacle  which  the  Greve  now  presented  was  a 
frightful  one.  The  heads,  levelled  by  the  perspective, 
extended  afar,  thick  and  agitated  as  the  ears  of  corn  in  a 
vast  plain.  From  time  to  time  a fresh  report  or  a dis- 
tant rumor  made  the  heads  oscillate  and  thousands  of 
eyes  flash.  Now  and  then  there  were  great  movements. 
All  those  ears  of  corn  bent,  and  became  waves  more  agi- 
tated than  those  of  the  ocean,  which  rolled  from  the  ex- 
tremities to  the  centre,  and  beat,  like  the  tides,  against 
the  hedge  of  archers  who  surrounded  the  gibbets.  Then 
the  handles  of  the  halberds  were  let  fall  upon  the  heads 
and  shoulders  of  the  rash  invaders ; at  times,  also,  it  was 
the  steel  as  well  as  the  wood,  and  in  that  case  a large 
empty  circle  was  formed  around  the  guard,  — a space  won 
at  the  expense  of  the  extremities,  which  underwent  in 
their  turn  the  compression  of  the  sudden  movement, 
which  drove  them  against  the  parapets  of  the  Seine. 
From  the  window,  which  commanded  a view  of  the  whole 
Place,  D’Artagnan  saw,  with  inward  satisfaction,  that 
such  of  the  musketeers  and  guards  as  found  themselves 
involved  in  the  crowd  were  able,  with  blows  of  their  fists 
and  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  to  keep  room.  He  even  no- 
ticed that  they  had  succeeded,  by  that  esprit  de  corps 
which  doubles  the  strength  of  the  soldier,  in  getting  to- 
gether in  one  group  to  the  amount  of  about  fifty  men  ; and 
that,  with  the  exception  of  a dozen  stragglers  whom  he  still 
saw  rolling  about  here  and  there,  the  nucleus  was  com- 


124 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


plete,  and  within  reach  of  his  voice.  But  it  was  not  the 
musketeers  and  guards  only  that  drew  the  attention  of 
D’Artagnan.  Around  the  gibbets,  and  particularly  at  the 
entrances  to  the  Arcade  of  St.  Jean,  moved  a noisy  mass,  a 
busy  mass ; daring  faces,  resolute  demeanors,  were  to  be 
seen  here  and  there,  mingled  with  silly  faces  and  indifferent 
demeanors  ; signals  were  interchanged,  hands  given  and 
taken.  D’Artagnan  remarked  among  the  groups,  and 
those  groups  the  most  animated,  the  face  of  the  cavalier 
whom  he  had  seen  enter  by  the  door  of  communication 
from  his  garden,  and  who  had  gone  upstairs  to  harangue 
the  drinkers.  That  man  was  organizing  squads  and  giv- 
ing orders.  “ Mordioux  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  to  himself, 
“ I was  not  deceived  ; I know  that  man,  — it  is  Menne- 
ville.  What  the  devil  is  he  doing  here  1 ” 

A distant  murmur,  which  became  more  distinct  by  de- 
grees, put  an  end  to  this  reflection,  and  drew  his  attention 
another  way.  This  murmur  was  occasioned  by  the  arri- 
val of  the  culprits ; a strong  picket  of  archers  preceded 
them,  and  appeared  at  the  angle  of  the  arcade.  The 
entire  crowd  now  joined  as  if  in  one  cry ; all  the  cries, 
united,  formed  one  immense  howl.  D’Artagnan  saw  Raoul 
turning  pale,  and  he  slapped  him  roughly  on  the  shoul- 
der. The  fire-keepers  turned  round  on  hearing  the  great 
cry,  and  asked  what  was  going  on. 

“ The  condemned  have  arrived,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ That  is  well,”  replied  they,  again  replenishing  the  fire. 

D’Artagnan  looked  at  them  with  much  uneasiness ; it 
was  evident  that  those  men  who  were  making  such  a 
fire  for  no  apparent  purpose  had  some  strange  intentions. 
The  condemned  appeared  upon  the  Place.  They  were 
walking,  the  executioner  before  them,  while  fifty  archers 
formed  a hedge  on  their  right  and  their  left.  Both  were 
dressed  in  black ; they  appeared  pale  but  firm.  They 


VIVE  COLBERT  ! 


125 


looked  impatiently  over  the  peopled  heads,  standing  on 
tiptoe  at  every  step. 

D’Artagnan  noticed  this.  “ Mordioux  ! 99  said  he,  “ they 
are  in  a great  hurry  to  get  a sight  of  the  gibbet ! ” 

Kaoul  drew  back,  without,  however,  having  the  power 
to  leave  the  window.  Terror  even  has  its  attractions. 

“ To  the  death  ! to  the  death  ! ” cried  fifty  thousand 
voices. 

“ Yes,  to  the  death  ! 99  howled  a hundred  others,  as  if 
the  great  mass  had  furnished  them  the  response. 

“ To  the  halter  ! to  the  halter  ! ” cried  the  great  whole  ; 
“ Vive  le  Roi  ! 99 

“Well,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “this  is  droll;  I thought  it 
was  M.  Colbert  who  had  caused  them  to  be  hung.” 

There  was  at  this  moment  a great  rolling  movement 
in  the  crowd,  which  stopped  for  a moment  the  march  of 
the  condemned.  The  men  of  bold  and  resolute  mien 
whom  D’Artagnan  had  observed,  by  dint  of  pressing, 
pushing,  and  lifting  themselves  up,  had  succeeded  in  al- 
most touching  the  hedge  of  archers.  The  cortege  resumed 
its  march.  All  at  once,  to  cries  of  “ Vive  Colbert ! 99  those 
men,  of  whom  D’Artagnan  never  lost  sight,  fell  upon 
the  escort,  which  in  vain  endeavored  to  stand  against 
them.  Behind  these  men  was  the  crowd.  Then  began, 
amid  a frightful  tumult,  as  frightful  a confusion.  This 
time  there  was  something  more  than  cries  of  expectation 
or  cries  of  mirth  ; there  were  cries  of  pain.  Halberds 
struck  men  down,  swords  ran  them  through,  muskets 
were  discharged  at  them.  The  turmoil  then  became  so 
great  that  D’Artagnan  could  no  longer  distinguish  any- 
thing. Then  from  this  chaos  suddenly  surged  something 
like  a visible  intention,  like  a purpose  formed.  The  con- 
demned had  been  torn  from  the  hands  of  the  guards,  and 
were  being  dragged  towards  the  house  of  the  Image  de 


126 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Notre-Dame.  Those  who  dragged  them  shouted  u Vive 
Colbert ! ” The  people  hesitated,  not  knowing  which 
they  ought  to  fall  upon,  the  archers  or  the  aggressors. 
What  stopped  the  people  was,  that  those  who  cried 
“ Vive  Colbert ! ” began  to  cry,  at  the  same  time,  u No 
halter!  down  with  the  gibbet!  to  the  fire ! to  the  fire! 
burn  the  thieves ! burn  the  extortioners  ! ” This  cry, 
shouted  as  with  one  voice,  was  enthusiastically  received. 
The  populace  had  come  to  witness  an  execution,  and  here 
was  an  opportunity  offered  them  of  performing  one  them- 
selves. This  would  of  course  be  more  agreeable  to  the 
populace ; therefore  they  ranged  themselves  immediately 
on  the  side  of  the  aggressors  against  the  archers,  crying 
with  the  minority,  which  had  become,  thanks  to  them, 
the  most  compact  majority  : “Yes,  yes;  to  the  fire  with 
the  thieves  ! Vive  Colbert ! ” 

“ Mordioux  ! v exclaimed  D’Artagnan,  “ this  begins  to 
look  serious.” 

One  of  the  men  who  remained  near  the  chimney  ap- 
proached the  window,  a firebrand  in  his  hand.  “Ah  ! ” 
* said  he,  “ it  is  getting  warm.”  Then,  turning  to  his 
companion,  “ There  is  the  signal,”  added  he;  and  he  im- 
mediately applied  the  burning  brand  to  the  wainscoting. 

Now,  this  tavern  of  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame  was  not 
a very  newly  built  house,  and  therefore  the  fire  did  not 
require  much  coaxing.  In  a second  the  boards  began  to 
crackle,  and  the  flames  arose  sparkling  to  the  ceiling.  A 
howling  from  without  replied  to  the  shouts  of  the  incendi- 
aries. D’Artagnan,  who  had  seen  nothing  of  this,  having 
been  looking  out  upon  the  Place,  felt,  at  the  same  time, 
the  smoke  which  choked  him  and  the  fire  which  scorched 
him.  “Holloa!”  cried  he,  turning  round,  “is  the  fire 
here?  Are  you  drunk  or  mad,  my  masters?” 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other  with  an  air  of  aston- 


VIVE  COLBERT  ! 


127 


ishment.  “ Why,”  asked  they  of  D’Artagnan,  “ was  it 
not  a thing  agreed  upon]” 

“ A thing  agreed  upon  that  you  should  burn  my  house ! ” 
vociferated  D’Artagnan,  snatching  the  brand  from  the 
hand  of  the  incendiary,  and  striking  him  with  it  across 
the  face.  The  second  wanted  to  come  to  the  assistance 
of  his  comrade ; but  Raoul,  seizing  him  by  the  middle, 
threw  him  out  of  the  window,  while  D’Artagnan  pushed 
his  man  down  the  stairs.  Raoul,  first  disengaged,  tore 
the  burning  wainscoting  down,  and  threw  it  smoking  out 
of  the  chamber.  At  a glance  D’Artagnan  saw  there  was 
nothing  to  be  feared  from  the  fire,  and  sprang  to  the 
window. 

The  disorder  was  at  its  height.  The  air  was  filled 
with  simultaneous  cries  of  “ To  the  fire  ! ” “To  the 
death  ! ” “ To  the  halter  ! ” “ To  the  stake  ! ” “ Vive 
Colbert !”  “ Vive  le  Roi!”  The  group  which  had  forced 
the  culprits  from  the  hands  of  the  archers  had  drawn 
close  to  the  house,  which  appeared  to  be  the  goal  towards 
which  they  were  dragging  them.  Menneville  was  at  the 
head  of  this  group,  shouting  louder  than  any  one,  “ To 
the  fire  ! to  the  fire  ! Vive  Colbert  ! ” 

D’Artagnan  began  to  comprehend.  They  wanted  to 
burn  the  condemned,  and  his  house  was  to  serve  as  a 
funeral  pile.  “ Halt  there  ! ” cried  he,  sword  in  hand, 
and  one  foot  upon  the  window-sill.  “Menneville,  what 
do  you  want  to  do  ? ” 

“M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” cried  the  latter;  “give  way,  give 
way  ! 99 

“ To  the  fire  ! to  the  fire  wTith  the  thieves  ! Vive  Col» 
bert ! ” yelled  the  crowd. 

These  cries  exasperated  D’Artagnan.  “ Mordioux ! 99 
said  he.  “ What ! burn  the  poor  devils  who  are  only 
condemned  to  be  hung!  that  is  infamous!” 


128 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Before  the  door,  however,  the  mass  of  anxious  specta- 
tors, rolled  back  against  the  walls,  had  become  thicker 
and  closed  up  the  way.  Menneville  and  his  men,  who 
were  dragging  along  the  culprits,  were  within  ten  paces 
of  the  door. 

Menneville  made  a last  effort.  “ Make  way  ! make 
way  ! ” cried  he,  pistol  in  hand. 

“ Burn  them  ! burn  them  ! ” repeated  the  crowd.  “ The 
Image  de  Notre-Dame  is  on  fire!  Burn  the  thieves! 
burn  the  monopolists  in  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame  ! ” 

There  now  remained  no  doubt ; it  was  plainly  D’Ar- 
tagnan’s  house  that  was  their  object.  D’Artagnan  re- 
membered the  old  cry,  always  so  effective  from  his 
mouth.  “ To  me,  Musketeers  ! ” shouted  he,  with  the 
voice  of  a giant,  with  one  of  those  voices  which  predomi- 
nate over  cannon,  the  sea,  the  tempest;  “To  me,  Mus- 
keteers ! ” And  suspending  himself  by  the  arm  from  the 
balcony,  he  allowed  himself  to  drop  in  the  middle  of  the 
crowd,  which  began  to  draw  back  from  a house  that 
rained  men.  Raoul  was  on  the  ground  as  soon  as  he, 
both  with  sword  in  hand.  All  the  musketeers  on  the  Place 
heard  that  mustering  cry ; all  turned  at  that  cry  and 
recognized  D’Artagnan.  “ To  the  captain,  to  the  cap- 
tain ! ” shouted  they,  in  their  turn ; and  the  crowd 
opened  before  them  as  if  before  the  prow  of  a vessel. 

At  that  moment  D’Artagnan  and  Menneville  found 
themselves  face  to  face. 

“Make  way!  make  way!”  cried  Menneville,  seeing 
that  he  was  within  an  arm’s  length  of  the  door. 

“No  one  passes  here,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“Take  that,  then  !”  said  Menneville,  firing  his  pistol, 
almost  within  touch.  But  before  the  cock  had  dropped, 
D’Artagnan  had  struck  up  Menneville’s  arm  with  the  hilt 
of  his  sword,  and  passed  the  blade  through  his  body. 


VIVE  COLBERT  ! 


129 


“ I told  you  plainly  to  keep  yourself  quiet/’  said  D’Ar- 
tagnan  to  Menneville,  who  rolled  at  his  feet. 

“ Make  way  ! make  way  ! ” cried  the  companions  of 
Menneville,  at  first  terrified,  but  soon  recovering,  when 
they  perceived  they  had  to  do  with  only  two  men.  But 
those  two  men  are  hundred-armed  giants;  the  sword  flies 
about  in  their  hands  like  the  flaming  brand  of  the  arch- 
angel. It  pierces  with  its  point,  strikes  with  its  back, 
cuts  with  its  edge ; every  stroke  brings  down  its  man. 

“For  the  king!”  cried  D’Artagnan,  to  every  man  he 
struck  at,  — that  is  to  say,  to  every  man  that  fell. 

“For  the  king  ! ” repeated  Raoul. 

This  cry  became  the  watchword  for  the  musketeers, 
who,  guided  by  it,  joined  D’Artagnan.  During  this  time 
the  archers,  recovering  from  the  panic  they  had  under- 
gone, charge  the  aggressors  in  the  rear,  and,  regular  as 
mill-strokes,  overturn  or  knock  down  all  that  oppose  them. 
The  crowd,  which  sees  swords  gleaming  and  drops  of 
blood  flying  in  the  air,  — the  crowd  falls  back,  and  crushes 
itself.  At  length  cries  for  mercy  and  of  despair  resound ; 
that  is  the  farewell  of  the  vanquished.  The  two  con- 
demned men  are  again  in  the  hands  of  the  archers. 

D’Artagnan  approaches  them,  and  seeing  them  pale 
and  sinking,  “ Console  yourselves,  poor  men ! ” said  he ; 
“you  will  not  undergo  the  frightful  torture  with  which 
these  wretches  threatened  you.  The  king  has  condemned 
you  to  be  hung,  — you  shall  only  be  hung.  Go  on,  hang 
them,  and  it  will  all  be  over.” 

There  is  no  longer  anything  going  on  at  the  Image  de 
Notre-Dame.  The  fire  has  been  extinguished  with  two 
tuns  of  wine  in  default  of  water.  The  conspirators  have 
fled  by  the  garden.  The  archers  are  dragging  the  cul- 
prits to  the  gibbets. 

From  this  moment  the  affair  did  not  occupy  much 

VOL.  II.  — 9 


130 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


time.  The  executioner,  heedless  about  operating  ac- 
cording to  the  rules  of  art,  made  such  haste  that  he 
despatched  the  two  wretches  in  one  minute. 

In  the  mean  time  the  people  gathered  around  D’Ar- 
tagnan.  They  congratulated,  they  cheered  him.  He  wiped 
his  brow,  streaming  with  sweat,  and  his  sword,  streaming 
with  blood.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  at  seeing  Men- 
neville  writhing  at  his  feet  in  the  last  convulsions ; and 
while  Raoul  turned  away  his  eyes  in  compassion,  he 
pointed  out  to  the  musketeers  the  gibbets  laden  with 
their  melancholy  fruit.  “ Poor  devils  ! ” said  he,  “ I hope 
they  died  blessing  me,  for  I saved  them  narrowly.” 
These  words  caught  the  ear  of  Menneville  just  as  he  was 
breathing  his  last  sigh.  A dark,  ironical  smile  flitted 
across  his  lips ; he  wished  to  reply,  but  the  effort  hastened 
the  snapping  of  the  cord  of  life,  — he  expired. 

“ Oh,  all  this  is  frightful  ! 99  murmured  Raoul ; “ let  us 
go,  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“ You  are  not  wounded?  ” asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ Not  at  all ; thank  you.” 

“ That  is  well ! Thou  art  a brave  fellow,  mordioux  ! 
The  head  of  the  father,  and  the  arm  of  Porthos ! Ah  ! 
if  he  had  been  here,  that  Porthos,  you  would  have  seen 
something  worth  looking  at.” 

Then,  as  if  by  way  of  remembrance,  “ But  where  the 
devil  can  that  brave  Porthos  be  ? ” murmured  D’Ar- 
tagnan. 

“Come,  Chevalier,  pray  come!  ” urged  Raoul. 

“ One  minute,  my  friend  ; let  me  take  my  thirty-seven 
and  a half  pistoles,  and  I shall  be  at  your  service.  The 
house  is  a good  property,”  added  D’Artagnan,  as  he  en- 
tered the  Image  de  Notre-Dame ; “ but  decidedty,  even 
if  it  were  less  profitable,  I should  prefer  its  being  in 
another  quarter.” 


THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS. 


131 


CHAPTEE  XY. 

HOW  THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS  PASSED  INTO  THE 
HANDS  OF  M.  D’ARTAGNAN. 

While  this  violent  and  bloody  scene  was  passing  on  the 
Greve,  several  men,  barricaded  behind  the  gate  of  com- 
munication with  the  garden,  replaced  their  swords  in 
their  sheaths,  assisted  one  among  them  to  mount  a ready- 
saddled  horse  which  was  waiting  in  the  garden,  and,  like 
a flock  of  frightened  birds,  fled  away  in  all  directions, 
some  climbing  the  walls,  others  rushing  out  at  the  gates, 
with  all  the  fury  of  a panic.  He  who  mounted  the  horse, 
and  who  gave  him  the  spur  so  sharply  that  the  animal 
was  near  leaping  the  wall,  — this  cavalier,  we  say,  crossed 
the  Place  Baudoyer,  passed  like  lightning  before  the 
crowd  in  the  streets,  riding  against,  running  over,  and 
knocking  down  all  that  came  in  his  way,  and,  ten  min- 
utes after,  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  superintendent, 
even  more  out  of  breath  than  his  horse. 

The  Abbe  Fouquet,  at  the  clatter  of  the  hoofs  on  the 
pavement,  appeared  at  a window  of  the  court,  and  before 
even  the  cavalier  had  set  foot  to  the  ground,  “Well, 
Danicampl”  he  inquired,  leaning  half  out  at  the  window. 
“ Well,  it  is  all  over,”  replied  the  cavalier. 

“ All  over  ! ” cried  the  abbe  ; “ then  they  are  saved  1 ” 

“ No, Monsieur,”  replied  the  cavalier,  “ they  are  hanged.” 
“ Hanged  ! ” repeated  the  abbe,  turning  pale.  A side 
door  suddenly  opened,  and  Fouquet  appeared  in  the 
chamber,  pale,  distracted ,,  with  lips  half  opened,  groaning 


132 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


with  grief  and  anger.  He  stopped  upon  the  threshold  to 
listen  to  what  was  addressed  from  the  court  to  the  window. 

“ Miserable  wretches  ! ” said  the  abbe,  “you  did  not 
fight,  thenl” 

“ Like  lions.” 

“ Say  like  cowards.” 

“ Monsieur ! ” 

“ A hundred  men  accustomed  to  war,  sword  in  hand, 
are  worth  ten  thousand  archers  in  a surprise.  Where  is 
Menneville,  that  boaster,  that  braggart,  who  was  to  return 
conqueror  or  die  1 ” 

“ Well,  Monsieur,  he  has  kept  his  word  ; he  is  dead  ! ” 
“ Dead  ! Who  killed  him  1 ” 

“ A demon  disguised  as  a man,  a giant  armed  with  ten 
flaming  swords,  a madman,  who  at  one  blow  extinguished 
the  fire,  extinguished  the  riot,  and  caused  a hundred  mus- 
keteers to  rise  up  out  of  the  pavement  of  the  Place  de 
Greve.” 

Fouquet  raised  his  brow,  streaming  with  sweat,  mur- 
muring, “ Oh  ! Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris  ! dead  ! dead  ! 
dead  ! and  I dishonored  ! ” 

The  abbe  turned  round,  and  perceiving  his  brother 
crushed  and  livid,  “ Come,  come,”  said  he,  “ it  is  a blow 
of  fate,  Monsieur  ; we  must  not  lament  thus.  If  we  have 
not  succeeded,  it  is  because  God  — 99 

“ Be  silent,  Abbe  ! be  silent ! ” cried  Fouquet ; u yout 
excuses  are  blasphemies.  Order  that  man  up  here,  and 
let  him  relate  the  details  of  this  horrible  event.” 

“ But,  Brother  — ” 

“ Obey,  Monsieur ! ” 

The  abbe  made  a sign,  and  in  half  a minute  the  step 
of  the  man  was  heard  upon  the  stairs.  At  the  same  time 
Gourville  appeared  behind  Fouquet,  like  the  guardian 
angel  of  the  superintendent,  pressing  one  finger  upon  his 


THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS. 


133 


lips  to  enjoin  circumspection  even  amid  the  burst  of  his 
grief.  The  minister  resumed  all  the  serenity  that  human 
strength  could  leave  at  the  disposal  of  a heart  half  broken 
with  sorrow.  Danicamp  appeared. 

“ Make  your  report/’  said  Gourville. 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  messenger,  “we  received  or- 
ders to  carry  off  the  prisoners,  and  to  cry  ‘ Vive  Colbert ! ’ 
while  carrying  them  off.” 

“ To  burn  them  alive,  was  it  not,  Abbe  'l  ” interrupted 
Gourville. 

“ Yes,  yes  ; the  order  was  given  to  Menneville.  Menne- 
ville  knew  what  was  to  be  done,  and  Menneville  is  dead.” 
This  news  appeared  rather  to  reassure  Gourville  than  to 
sadden  him. 

“ To  burn  them  alive  % ” repeated  the  messenger,  as  if 
he  doubted  whether  that  order  — the  only  one  that  had 
been  given  him,  moreover  — could  have  been  real. 

“ Yes,  certainly,  to  burn  them  alive,”  said  the  abbe, 
roughly. 

“ Granted,  Monsieur,  granted  ! ” said  the  man,  looking 
into  the  eyes  and  the  faces  of  his  two  interlocutors,  to 
ascertain  what  there  was  profitable  or  disadvantageous  to 
himself  in  telling  the  truth. 

“ Now  proceed,”  said  Gourville. 

“ The  prisoners,”  continued  Danicamp,  “ were  brought 
to  the  Greve  ; and  the  people,  in  a fury,  insisted  upon 
their  being  burnt  instead  of  being  hanged.” 

“ And  the  people  were  right,”  said  the  abbe.  “ Go  on ! ” 

“But,”  resumed  the  man,  “at  the  moment  the  archers 
were  broken,  at  the  moment  the  fire  was  set  to  one  of 
the  houses  of  the  Place,  destined  to  serve  as  a funeral-pile 
for  the  guilty,  the  fury,  the  demon,  the  giant  of  whom  I 
told  you,  and  who,  we  have  been  informed,  was  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  house  in  question,  aided  by  a young  man 


134 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


who  accompanied  him,  threw  out  of  the  window  those 
who  kept  up  the  fire,  called  to  his  assistance^  the  muske- 
teers who  were  in  the  crowd,  leaped  himself  from  the 
window  of  the  first  story  into  the  Place,  and  plied  his 
sword  so  desperately  that  the  victory  was  restored  to  the 
archers,  the  prisoners  were  retaken,  and  Menneville 
killed.  When  once  recaptured,  the  condemned  were  ex- 
ecuted in  three  minutes.” 

Fouquet,  in  spite  of  his  self-command,  could  not  pre- 
vent a deep  groan  from  escaping  him. 

“ And  this  man,  the  proprietor  of  the  house,  what  is 
his  name  1 ” said  the  abbe. 

“I  cannot  tell  you,  not  having  been  able  to  get  sight 
of  him ; my  post  had  been  assigned  me  in  the  garden, 
and  I remained  at  my  post ; only,  the  affair  was  related 
to  me  as  I repeat  it.  I was  ordered,  when  once  the 
thing  was  ended,  to  come  at  best  speed  and  announce  to 
you  how  the  affair  turned  out.  According  to  this  order, 
I set  out  at  full  gallop,  and  here  I am.” 

“ Very  well,  Monsieur,  we  have  nothing  else  to  ask  of 
you,”  said  the  abbe,  more  and  more  dejected,  in  propor- 
tion as  the  moment  approached  for  finding  himself  alone 
with  his  brother. 

“ Have  you  been  paid  % ” demanded  Gourville. 

“ Partly,  Monsieur,”  replied  Danicamp. 

“ Here  are  twenty  pistoles.  Be  off,  Monsieur,  and 
never  forget  to  defend,  as  at  this  time,  the  true  interests 
of  the  king.” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,”  said  the  man,  bowing  and  pocketing 
the  money.  After  which  he  went  out. 

Scarcely  had  the  door  closed  behind  him  when  Fouquet, 
who  had  remained  motionless,  advanced  with  a rapid  step, 
and  stood  between  the  abbe  and  Gourville.  Both  of  them 
at  the  same  instant  opened  their  mouths  to  speak  to  him. 


THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS.  * 


135 


“ No  excuses/’  said  he,  u no  recriminations  against  any- 
body. If  I had  not  been  a false  friend,  I should  not  have 
confided  to  any  one  the  care  of  delivering  Lyodot  and 
D’Eymeris.  I alone  am  guilty ; to  me  alone  are  re- 
proaches and  remorse  due.  Leave  me,  Abbe  ! ” 

“ And  yet,  Monsieur,  you  will  not  prevent  me,”  replied 
the  latter,  “ from  endeavoring  to  find  out  the  miserable 
fellow  who  has  intervened  for  the  advantage  of  M.  Colbert 
in  this  so  well-arranged  affair ; for  if  it  is  good  policy  to 
love  our  friends  dearly,  I do  not  believe  that  is  bad  which 
consists  in  pursuing  our  enemies  with  inveteracy.” 

“ A truce  to  policy,  Abbe  ! Go,  I beg  of  you,  and  do  not 
let  me  hear  any  more  of  you  till  I send  for  you  ; what 
we  most  need  is  circumspection  and  silence.  You  have  a 
terrible  example  before  you,  gentlemen  ; no  retaliation,  I 
forbid  it.” 

“ There  are  no  orders,”  grumbled  the  abbe,  “ which 
will  prevent  me  from  avenging  a family  affront  upon  the 
guilty  person.” 

“ And  I,”  cried  Fouquet,  in  that  imperative  tone  to 
which  one  feels  there  is  nothing  to  reply,  — “ if  you  enter- 
tain one  thought,  one  single  thought,  which  is  not  the 
absolute  expression  of  my  will,  I will  have  you  cast  into 
the  Bastille  two  hours  after  that  thought  has  manifested 
itself.  Regulate  your  conduct  accordingly,  Abbe.” 

The  abbe  colored  and  bowed.  Fouquet  made  a sign 
to  Gourville  to  follow  him,  and  was  already  directing  his 
steps  towards  his  cabinet,  when  the  usher  announced  with 
a loud  voice  : “M.  le  Chevalier  d’Artagnan.” 

“Who  is  he'?”  said  Fouquet,  carelessly,  to  Gourville. 

“ An  ex-lieutenant  of  his  Majesty’s  Musketeers,”  replied 
Gourville,  in  the  same  tone.  Fouquet  did  not  even  take 
the  trouble  to  reflect,  and  resumed  his  walk.  “ I beg  your 
pardon,  Monseigneur  ! ” said  Gourville,  then,  “ but  I have 


136 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


remembered ; this  brave  man  has  left  the  king’s  service, 
and  probably  comes  to  receive  a quarter  of  some  pension 
or  other.” 

“ Devil  take  him  ! ” said  Fouquet,  “ why  does  he  choose 
his  time  so  ill  ] ” 

“ Permit  me,  then,  Monseigneur,  to  announce  your 
refusal  to  him  ; for  he  is  one  of  my  acquaintance,  and  is 
a man  whom  in  our  present  circumstances  it  would  be 
better  to  have  as  a friend  than  an  enemy.” 

“ Answer  him  as  you  please,”  said  Fouquet. 

“ Eh  ! good  Lord  ! ” said  the  abbe,  still  rancorous,  like 
a churchman;  “tell  him  there  is  no  money,  particularly 
for  musketeers.” 

But  scarcely  had  the  abbe  uttered  this  imprudent 
speech,  when  the  partly  open  door  was  thrown  back,  and 
D’Artagnan  appeared. 

“M.  Fouquet,”  said  he,  “I  was  well  aware  there  was 
no  money  for  musketeers  here.  Therefore  I did  not 
come  to  obtain  any,  but  to  have  it  refused.  That  being 
done,  receive  my  thanks.  I wish  you  good-day,  and  will 
go  and  seek  it  at  M.  Colbert’s ; ” and  he  went  out,  after 
making  an  easy  bow. 

“ Gourville,”  said  Fouquet,  “run  after  that  man  and 
bring  him  back  ! ” Gourville  obeyed,  and  overtook  D’Ar- 
tagnan on  the  stairs. 

D’Artagnan,  hearing  steps  behind  him,  turned  round  and 
perceived  Gourville.  “ Mordioux  ! my  dear  Monsieur,” 
said  he,  “ these  are  sad  lessons  which  you  gentlemen  of 
finance  teach  us  ! I come  to  M.  Fouquet  to  receive  a sum 
accorded  by  his  Majesty,  and  I am  received  like  a mendi- 
cant who  comes  to  ask  charity,  or  like  a thief  who  comes 
to  steal  a piece  of  plate.” 

“ But  you  pronounced  the  name  of  M.  Colbert,  my  dear 
M.  d’Artagnan ; you  said  you  were  going  to  M.  Colbert’s  ? ” 


THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS.  137 

“ I certainly  am  going  there,  were  it  only  to  ask  satis- 
faction in  regard  to  the  people  who  try  to  burn  houses, 
crying,  ‘ Vive  Colbert ! ’ ” 

Gourville  pricked  up  his  ears.  “ Oh  ! ” said  he,  “you 
allude  to  what  has  just  happened  at  the  Greve^  ” 

“Yes,  certainly.” 

“ And  in  what  did  that  which  has  taken  place  concern 
you  1 ” 

“ What ! do  you  ask  me  whether  it  concerns  me,  or 
does  not  concern  me,  if  M.  Colbert  pleases  to  make  a 
funeral-pile  of  my  house  ? ” 

“ So,  your  house  — was  it  your  house  they  wanted  to 
burn  ] ” 

“ Pardieu  ! was  it  ! ” 

“ Is  the  pot-house  of  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame  yours, 
then  ? ” 

“ It  has  been  for  a week.” 

“ Well,  then,  are  you  the  brave  captain,  are  you  the 
valiant  blade,  who  dispersed  those  who  wished  to  burn 
the  condemned  1 ” 

“ My  dear  M.  Gourville,  put  yourself  in  my  place  ; I 
am  an  agent  of  the  public  force  and  a proprietor.  As  a 
captain,  it  is  my  duty  to  have  the  orders  of  the  king 
accomplished.  As  a proprietor,  it  is  my  interest  that  my 
house  should  not  be  burned.  I have,  then,  at  the  same 
time  attended  to  the  laws  of  interest  and  duty  in  re- 
placing Messieurs  Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris  in  the  hands 
of  the  archers.’ ’ 

“ Then  it  was  you  who  threw  the  man  out  of  the 
window  % ” 

“It  was  I myself,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  modestly. 

“ And  you  who  killed  Menneville  ? ” 

“I  had  that  misfortune,”  said  D’Artagnan,  bowing  like 
a man  who  is  being  congratulated. 


138 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“It  was  you,  then,  in  short,  who  caused  the  two  con- 
demned persons  to  be  hanged  ! ” ' 

“ Instead  of  being  burned ; yes,  Monsieur,  and  I glory 
in  it.  I snatched  the  poor  devils  from  horrible  tortures. 
Understand,  my  dear  M.  Gourville,  that  they  wanted  to 
burn  them  alive  ! It  exceeds  imagination  ! ” 

“ Go,  my  dear  M.  d’Artagnan,  go  ! ” said  Gourville, 
anxious  to  spare  Fouquet  the  sight  of  a man  who  had 
just  caused  him  such  profound  grief. 

“ No,”  said  Fouquet,  who  had  heard  all  from  the 
door  of  the  antechamber,  “ not  so ; on  the  contrary, 
M.  d’Artagnan,  come  in.” 

D’Artagnan  wiped  from  the  hilt  of  his  sword  a last 
bloody  trace,  which  had  escaped  his  notice,  and  returned. 
He  then  found  himself  face  to  face  with  these  three  men, 
whose  countenances  wore  very  different  expressions,  — 
with  the  abbe  it  was  anger,  with  Gourville  stupor,  with 
Fouquet  dejection. 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  the  Minister,”  said 
D’Artagnan,  “ but  my  time  is  short ; I have  to  go  to  the 
office  of  the  intendant,  to  have  an  explanation  with  M. 
Colbert,  and  to  draw  my  quarter’s  pension.” 

“ But,  Monsieur,”  said  Fouquet,  “ there  is  money  here.” 
D’Artagnan  looked  at  the  superintendent  with  astonish- 
ment. “ You  have  been  answered  inconsiderately,  Mon- 
sieur, I know,  because  I heard  it,”  said  the  minister ; “ a 
man  of  your  merit  ought  to  be  known  by  everybody.” 
D’Artagnan  bowed.  “ Have  you  an  order  ! ” added  Fouquet. 
“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Give  it  to  me,  I will  pay  you  myself ; come  with  me.” 
Fouquet  made  a sign  to  Gourville  and  the  abbe,  who 
remained  in  the  room  where  they  were.  He  led  D’Ar- 
tagnan into  his  cabinet.  As  soon  as  they  were  there, 
“ How  much  is  due  to  you,  Monsieur!” 


THE  DIAxMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS. 


139 


“ Why,  something  like  five  thousand  livres,  Mon- 
seigneur.” 

“For  your  arrears  of  pay?” 

“For  a quarter’s  pay.” 

“ A quarter  consisting  of  five  thousand  livres  ! ” said 
Fouquet,  fixing  upon  the  musketeer  a searching  look. 
“ Does  the  king,  then,  give  you  twenty  thousand  livres 
a year  ? ” 

“Yes,  Monseigneur,  twenty  thousand  livres  a year ; do 
you  think  it  is  too  much  ? ” 

“ I ? ” cried  Fouquet ; and  he  smiled  bitterly.  “ If  I 
had  any  knowledge  of  mankind ; if  I were  — instead  of 
a frivolous,  inconsequent,  and  vain  mind  — of  a prudent 
and  deliberate  mind  ; if,  in  a word,  I had  known,  as 
certain  persons  have,  how  to  regulate  my  life,  you  would 
not  receive  twenty  thousand  livres  a year  but  a hun- 
dred thousand,  and  you  would  not  belong  to  the  king 
but  to  me.” 

D’Artagnan  colored  slightly.  There  is  in  the  manner 
in  which  a eulogium  is  given,  in  the  voice  of  the  eulo- 
gist, in  his  affectionate  tone,  a poison  so  sweet  that  the 
strongest  mind  is  sometimes  intoxicated  by  it.  The  su- 
perintendent ended  this  speech  by  opening  a drawer  and 
taking  from  it  four  rouleaux , which  he  placed  before 
D’Artagnan.  The  Gascon  broke  open  one.  “ Gold  ! ” 
said  he. 

“ It  will  be  less  burdensome,  Monsieur.” 

“ But  then,  Monsieur,  this  makes  twenty  thousand 
livres.” 

“No  doubt.” 

“ But  only  five  are  due  to  me.” 

“ I wish  to  spare  you  the  trouble  of  coming  four  times 
to  my  office.” 

“ You  overwhelm  me,  Monsieur.” 


140 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I do  only  what  I ought  to  do,  Monsieur  the  Cheva- 
lier ; and  I hope  you  will  not  bear  me  any  malice  on  ac- 
count of  the  rude  reception  my  brother  gave  you.  He  is 
of  a sour,  capricious  disposition.,, 

“Monsieur,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “believe  me  nothing 
would  grieve  me  more  than  an  apology  from  you.” 

“ Therefore  I will  make  no  more,  and  will  content  my- 
self with  asking  of  you  a favor.” 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  ! ” 

Fouquet  drew  from  his  finger  a diamond  worth 
about  a thousand  pistoles.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ this 
stone  was  given  me  by  a friend  of  my  childhood,  by  a 
man  to  whom  you  have  rendered  a great  service.”  Fou- 
quet’s  voice  softened  perceptibly. 

“ A service  — II”  said  the  musketeer ; “ I have  ren- 
dered a service  to  one  of  your  friends  1 ” 

“You  cannot  have  forgotten  it,  Monsieur,  for  it  was 
this  very  day.” 

“ And  that  friend’s  name  was  — ” 

“ M.  d’Eymeris.” 

“ One  of  the  condemned  ? ” 

“ Yes,  one  of  the  victims.  Well,  M.  d’Artagnan,  in 
return  for  the  service  you  have  rendered  him,  I beg  you 
to  accept  this  diamond.  Do  so  for  my  sake.” 

“ Monsieur  ! you  — ” 

“ Accept  it,  I say.  To-day  is  with  me  a day  of 
mourning  ; hereafter  you  will,  perhaps,  learn  why. 
To-day  I have  lost  a friend ; well,  I will  try  to  get 
another.” 

“ But,  M.  Fouquet  — ” 

“ Adieu  ! M.  d’Artagnan,  adieu  ! ” cried  Fouquet,  with 
much  emotion  ; “or  rather,  au  revoir  ! ” and  the  minis- 
ter quitted  the  room,  leaving  in  the  hands  of  the  muske- 
teer the  ring  and  the  twenty  thousand  livres. 


THE  DIAMOND  OF  M.  D’EYMERIS. 


141 


“ Oh ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  after  a moment’s  sober  re- 
flection. “ Do  I understand  what  this  means'?  Mor- 
dioux  ! I can  understand  so  far,  — he  is  a gallant  man  ! 
I will  go  and  explain  matters  with  M.  Colbert ; ” and  he 
went  out. 


142 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

OP  THE  NOTABLE  DIFFERENCE  d’aRTAGNAN  FINDS  BETWEEN 
MONSIEUR  THE  INTENDxVNT  AND  MONSIEUR  THE  SUPER- 
INTENDENT. 

M.  Colbert  resided  in  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits-Champs, 
in  a house  which  had  belonged  to  Beautru.  D’Artagnan’s 
legs  cleared  the  distance  in  a short  quarter  of  an  hour. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  residence  of  the  new  favorite,  the 
court  was  full  of  archers  and  policemen,  who  had  come  to 
congratulate  him  or  to  excuse  themselves,  according  to 
whether  he  should  choose  to  praise  or  blame.  The  senti- 
ment of  flattery  is  instinctive  among  people  of  abject 
condition ; they  have  the  sense  of  it,  as  the  wild  animal 
has  that  of  hearing  and  smell.  These  people,  or  their 
leader,  had  understood  that  they  could  give  pleasure  to 
M.  Colbert  in  rendering  him  an  account  of  the  way  in 
which  his  name  had  been  pronounced  during  the  affray. 

D’Artagnan  made  his  appearance  just  as  the  chief  of 
the  watch  was  giving  his  report.  D’Artagnan  stood  close 
to  the  door,  behind  the  archers.  That  officer  took  Col- 
bert aside,  in  spite  of  his  resistance  and  the  contraction 
of  his  heavy  eyebrows.  “ In  case,”  said  he,  “ you  had 
really  desired,  Monsieur,  that  the  people  should  do  justice 
to  the  two  traitors,  it  would  have  been  wise  to  warn  us 
of  it ; for  indeed,  Monsieur,  in  spite  of  our  regret  at  dis- 
pleasing you  or  thwarting  your  views,  we  had  our  orders 
to  execute.” 

“ Triple  fool ! ” replied  Colbert,  furiously  shaking  his 
hair,  thick  and  black  as  a mane ; “ what  are  you  telling 


THE  INTENDANT  AND  THE  SUPERINTENDENT,  143 


me  here?  What!  that  I could  have  had  an  idea  of  a 
riot ! Are  you  mad  or  drunk  ? ” 

“ But,  Monsieur,  they  cried,  ‘ Vive  Colbert ! ’ 99  replied 
the  trembling  chief  of  watch. 

“ A handful  of  conspirators  — ” 

“ No,  no  ; a mass  of  people.” 

“Ah,  indeed!”  said  Colbert,  expanding.  “A  mass  of 
people  cried,  ‘ Vive  Colbert  ! ’ Are  you  certain  of  what 
you  say,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“We  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  open  our  ears,  or  rather 
to  close  them,  so  terrible  were  the  cries.” 

“ And  this  was  from  the  people,  the  real  people  ? ” 

“ Certainly,  Monsieur ; only,  these  real  people  beat 
us.” 

“ Oh,  very  well  ! ” continued  Colbert,  thoughtfully. 
“Then  you  suppose  it  was  the  people  who  wished  to  burn 
the  condemned  ? ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  ! ” 

“ That  is  quite  another  thing.  You  strongly  resisted, 
then  ? ” 

“ We  had  three  men  killed,  Monsieur.” 

“ But  you  killed  nobody  yourselves  ? ” 

“ Monsieur,  a few  of  the  rioters  were  left  upon  the 
square,  and  one  among  them  was  not  a common  man.” 

“ Who  was  he  ? ” 

“ A certain  Menneville,  upon  whom  the  police  have  a 
long  time  had  an  eye.” 

“ Menneville  ! ” exclaimed  Colbert,  “ what  ! he  who 
killed,  in  the  Rue  de  la  Hochette,  a worthy  man  who 
wanted  a fat  fowl  ? ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur;  the  same.” 

“ And  did  this  Menneville  also  cry,  ‘ Vive  Colbert ! ’ 99 
“ Louder  than  all  the  rest  ; like  a madman.” 

The  brow  of  Colbert  became  cloudy  and  wrinkled.  A 


144 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


kind  of  ambitious  glory  which  had  lighted  his  face  was 
extinguished,  like  the  light  of  those  glow-worms  which  we 
crush  beneath  the  grass.  “ Why,  then,  do  you  say/’  re- 
sumed the  deceived  intendant,  “ that  the  initiative  came 
from  the  people  *?  Menneville  was  my  enemy  ; I would 
have  had  him  hanged,  and  he  knew  it  well.  Menneville 
belonged  to  the  Abbe  Fouquet,  — the  whole  affair  origi- 
nated with  Fouquet ; does  not  everybody  know  that  the 
condemned  were  his  friends  from  childhood'?” 

“ That  is  true,”  thought  D’Artagnan,  “ and  now  are 
all  my  doubts  cleared  up.  I repeat  it:  M.  Fouquet  may 
be  what  they  please,  but  he  is  a gallant  man.” 

“ And,”  pursued  Colbert,  ‘‘are  you  quite  sure  Menne- 
ville is  dead  h ” 

D’Artagnan  thought  the  time  had  come  for  him  to 
make  his  appearance.  “ Perfectly,  Monsieur/’  replied  he, 
advancing  suddenly. 

“ Oh  ! is  that  you,  Monsieur  ? ” said  Colbert. 

“ In  person,”  replied  the  musketeer,  with  his  deliberate 
tone  ; “it  appears  that  you  had  in  Menneville  a pretty 
little  enemy.” 

“ It  was  not  I,  Monsieur,  who  had  an  enemy,”  replied 
Colbert ; “ it  was  the  king.” 

“ Double  brute  ! ” thought  D’Artagnan,  “ to  think  to 
play  the  great  man  and  the  hypocrite  with  me.  Well,” 
continued  he  to  Colbert,  “ I am  very  happy  to  have  ren- 
dered so  good  a service  to  the  king ; will  you  take  upon 
yourself  to  tell  his  Majesty,  Monsieur  the  Intendant'?” 

“ What  commission  do  you  give  me,  and  what  do  you 
charge  me  to  tell  his  Majesty,  Monsieur  *?  Be  precise,  if 
you  please,”  said  Colbert,  in  a sharp  voice,  tuned  before- 
hand to  hostility. 

“ I give  you  no  commission,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  with 
that  calmness  which  never  abandons  the  banterer.  “ I 


THE  INTENDANT  AND  THE  SUPERINTENDENT.  145 

thought  it  would  be  easy  for  you  to  announce  to  his  Maj- 
esty that  it  was  I who,  being  there  by  chance,  did  justice 
to  Menneville,  and  restored  things  to  order.” 

Colbert  opened  his  eyes,  and  interrogated  the  chief  of 
the  watch  with  a look.  “ Ah,  it  is  very  true,”  said  the 
latter,  “ that  this  gentleman  saved  us.” 

“ Why  did  you  not  tell  me,  Monsieur,  that  you  had 
come  to  inform  me  of  this  % ” said  Colbert,  with  envy  ; 
“ everything  is  explained,  and  better  for  you  than  for  any 
other.” 

“ You  are  in  error,  Monsieur  the  Intendant ; I did  not 
at  all  come  for  the  purpose  of  informing  you  of  this.” 

“It  is  an  exploit,  nevertheless.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  the  musketeer,  carelessly,  “ constant  habit 
blunts  the  mind.” 

“ To  what  do  I owe  the  honor  of  your  visit,  then  ? ” 

“ Simply  to  this  : the  king  ordered  me  to  come  to 
you.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Colbert,  recovering  his  self-possession,  be- 
cause he  saw  D’Artagnan  draw  a paper  from  his  pocket ; 
“ it  is  to  demand  some  money  of  meU’ 

“Precisely,  Monsieur.” 

“ Have  the  goodness  to  wait,  if  you  please,  Monsieur, 
till  1 have  despatched  the  report  of  the  watch.” 

D’Artagnan  turned  round  upon  his  heel  insolently 
enough,  and  finding  himself  face  to  face  with  Colbert 
after  this  first  turn,  bowed  to  him  as  a harlequin 
would  have  done ; then,  after  a second  evolution,  he  di- 
rected his  steps  towards  the  door  in  quick  time.  Colbert 
was  struck  with  this  pointed  rudeness,  to  which  he  was 
not  accustomed.  In  general,  men  of  the  sword,  when 
they  came  to  his  office,  were  in  such  want  of  money  that 
though  their  feet  had  taken  root  in  the  marble,  they 
would  not  have  lost  their  patience.  Was  D’Artagnan 
VOL.  ii.  — 10 


146 


THE  VTCOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


going  straight  to  the  king?  Would  he  go  and  complain 
of  his  bad  reception,  or  recount  his  exploit  ? This  was  a 
grave  matter  of  consideration.  At  all  events,  the  mo- 
ment was  badly  chosen  to  send  D’Artagnan  away,  whether 
he  came  from  the  king  or  on  his  own  account.  The 
musketeer  had  rendered  too  great  a service,  and  that  too 
recently,  for  it  to  be  already  forgotten.  Therefore  Col- 
bert thought  it  would  be  better  to  shake  off  his  arrogance 
and  call  D’Artagnan  back.  “ Ho,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” cried 
Colbert ; “ what ! are  you  leaving  me  thus  ? ” 

D’Artagnan  turned  round.  “ Why  not?”  said  he, 
quietly ; “ we  have  no  more  to  say  to  each  other,  have 
we?” 

“ You  have  at  least  money  to  get,  as  you  have  an 
order.” 

“ Who?  I?  Oh,  not  at  all,  my  dear  M.  Colbert  ! ” 

“ But,  Monsieur,  you  have  an  order  ! And  in  the  same 
manner  as  you  give  a sword-thrust  for  the  king  when  you 
are  required,  I,  on  my  part,  pay  when  an  order  is  pre- 
sented to  me.  Present  yours.” 

“ It  is  useless,  my  dear  M.  Colbert,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
who  inwardly  enjoyed  the  confusion  introduced  into  the 
ideas  of  Colbert ; “ this  order  is  paid.” 

“ Paid  ! by  whom  ? ” 

“ Why,  by  Monsieur  the  Superintendent.” 

Colbert  turned  pale.  “ Explain  yourself,  then,”  said 
he,  in  a stifled  voice  ; “ if  you  are  paid,  why  do  you  show 
me  that  paper?  ” 

“ In  consequence  of  the  charge  of  which  you  spoke  to 
me  so  ingeniously  just  now,  dear  M.  Colbert  ; the  king 
told  me  to  draw  a quarter  of  the  pension  he  is  pleased  to 
make  me.” 

“ Of  me  ? ” said  Colbert. 

“ Not  exactly.  The  king  said  to  me  : ‘ Go  to  M.  Fou- 


THE  INTENDANT  AND  THE  SUPERINTENDENT.  147 

quet ; the  superintendent  will,  perhaps,  have  no  money, 
then  you  will  go  and  draw  it  of  M.  Colbert.  ’ ” 

The  countenance  of  M.  Colbert  brightened  for  a mo- 
ment ; but  it  was  with  his  unfortunate  physiognomy  as 
with  a stormy  sky,  sometimes  radiant,  sometimes  dark  as 
night,  according  as  the  lightning  gleams  or  the  cloud 
passes.  “ And  was  there  any  money  in  the  superintend- 
ent’s coffers  V9  asked  he. 

“Why,  yes,  he  could  not  be  badly  off  for  money,”  re- 
plied D’Artagnan,  “since  M.  Fouquet,  instead  of  paying 
me  a quarter,  five  thousand  livres — ” 

“ A quarter,  five  thousand  livres ! ” exclaimed  Col- 
bert, struck,  as  Fouquet  had  been,  with  the  largeness  of 
the  sum  destined  to  pay  for  the  service  of  a soldier ; 
“why,  that  would  be  a pension  of  twenty  thousand 
livres ! ” 

“ Exactly,  M.  Colbert.  Peste  ! you  reckon  like  old 
Pythagoras ; yes,  twenty  thousand  livres.” 

“ Ten  times  the  salary  of  an  intendant  of  the  finances  ! 
I beg  to  offer  you  my  compliments,”  said  Colbert,  with  a 
venomous  smile. 

“Oh ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “the  king  apologized  for  giv- 
ing me  so  little  ; but  he  promised  to  make  it  more  here- 
after, when  he  should  be  rich ; but  I must  go,  having 
much  to  do  — ” 

“ So,  then,  notwithstanding  the  expectation  of  the  king, 
the  superintendent  paid  you,  did  he  % ” 

“ In  the  same  manner  as,  in  opposition  to  the  king’s 
expectation,  you  refused  to  pay  me.” 

“ I did  not  refuse,  Monsieur ; I only  begged  you  to 
wait.  And  you  say  that  M.  Fouquet  paid  you  your  five 
thousand  livres  ] ” 

“Yes,  as  you  might  have  done  ; but  he  did  still  better 
than  that,  M.  Colbert.” 


148 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ And  what  did  he  do  ? ” 

“ He  politely  counted  me  down  the  whole  of  the  sum, 
saying  that,  for  the  king,  his  coffers  were  always  full.” 

“ The  whole  of  the  sum  ! M.  Fouquet  has  counted  you 
out  twenty  thousand  livres  instead  of  five  thousand  ] ” 
“Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ And  what  for?” 

“ In  order  to  spare  me  three  visits  to  the  money-chest 
of  the  superintendent ; so  that  I have  the  twenty  thou- 
sand livres  in  my  pocket  in  good  new  coin.  You  see,  then, 
that  I am  able  to  go  away  without  standing  in  need  of 
you,  having  come  here  only  for  form’s  sake  ; ” and  D’Ar- 
tagnan  slapped  his  hand  upon  his  pocket,  with  a laugh 
which  disclosed  to  Colbert  thirty-two  magnificent  teeth, 
as  white  as  those  of  a man  twenty-five  years  old,  and  which 
seemed  to  say  in  their  language,  “ Serve  up  to  us  thirty- 
two  little  Colberts,  and  we  will  grind  them  willingly.” 
The  serpent  is  as  brave  as  the  lion,  the  hawk  as  cour- 
ageous as  the  eagle ; that  cannot  be  disputed.  It  can 
only  be  said  of  animals  that  are  decidedly  cowardly,  and 
are  so  called,  that  they  will  be  brave  when  they  have  to 
defend  themselves.  Colbert  was  not  frightened  at  the 
thirty-two  teeth  of  D’Artagnan  ; he  recovered  himself,  and 
suddenly.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ Monsieur  the  Super- 
intendent has  done  what  he  had  no  right  to  do.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ” replied  D’Artagnan. 

“I  mean  that  your  order — will  you  let  me  see  your 
order,  if  you  please  ? ” 

“ Very  willingly;  here  it  is.” 

Colbert  seized  the  paper  with  an  eagerness  which  the 
musketeer  did  not  remark  without  uneasiness,  and  partic- 
ularly without  a certain  degree  of  regret  at  having  trusted 
him  with  it.  “ Well,  Monsieur,  the  royal  order  says 
this : ‘ At  sight,  I command  that  there  be  paid  to  M. 


THE  INTEND  ANT  AND  THE  SUPERINTENDENT.  149 


d’Artagnan  the  sum  of  five  thousand  livres,  forming  a 
quarter  of  the  pension  I have  made  him/  ” 

“ So,  in  fact,  it  is  written,”  said  D’Artagnan,  affecting 
calmness. 

“Very  well;  the  king  owed  you  only  five  thousand 
livres.  Why  has  more  been  given  to  you  ? ” 

“Because  there  was  more,  and  M.  Fouquet  was  willing 
to  give  me  more.  That  does  not  concern  anybody.” 

“It  is  natural,”  said  Colbert,  with  supercilious  ease, 
“ that  you  should  be  ignorant  of  the  usages  of  finance  ; 
. but,  Monsieur,  when  you  have  a thousand  livres  to  pay, 
what  do  you  do  1 ” 

“ I never  have  a thousand  livres  to  pay,”  replied 
D’Artagnan. 

“ Once  more,”  said  Colbert,  irritated,  “ if  you  had  any 
payment  to  .make,  would  you  not  pay  what  you  ought  1 ” 
“ That  only  proves  one  thing,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “ and 
that  is,  that  you  have  your  particular  customs  in  finance, 
while  M.  Fouquet  has  his  own.” 

“Mine,  Monsieur,  are  the  correct  ones.” 

“ I do  not  say  they  are  not.” 

“And  you  have  received  what  was  not  due  to  you.” 
The  eye  of  D’Artagnan  flashed.  “ What  is  not  due  to 
me  yet,  you  meant  to  say,  M.  Colbert ; for  if  I had  re- 
ceived what  was  not  due  to  me  at  all,  I should  have  com- 
mitted a theft.” 

Colbert  made  no  reply  to  this  subtlety.  “ You  then 
owe  fifteen  thousand  livres  to  the  public  treasury,”  said 
he,  carried  awTay  by  his  jealous  ardor. 

“ Then  you  must  give  me  credit  for  them,”  replied 
D’Artagnan,  /with  his  imperceptible  irony. 

“ Not  at  all,  Monsieur.” 

“ Well,  what  will  you  do,  then  1 You  will  not  take  my 
rouleaux  from  me,  will  you  1 ” 


150 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“You  must  return  them  to  my  coffers.” 

“ I ? Oh,  Monsieur  Colbert,  don’t  reckon  upon  that  ! 

“ The  king  wants  his  money,  Monsieur.” 

“ And  I,  Monsieur,  — I want  the  king’s  money.” 

“ That  may  be  ; hut  you  must  return  this.” 

“ By  no  means.  I have  always  understood  that  in 
matters  of  finance,  as  you  call  it,  a good  cashier  never 
gives  back,  nor  takes  back.” 

“ Then,  Monsieur,  we  shall  see  what  the  king  will  say 
about  it.  I will  show  him  this  order,  which  proves  that 
M.  Fouquet  not  only  pays  what  he  does  not  owe,  but 
that  he  does  not  even  take  care  of  the  receipts  for  what 
he  has  paid.” 

“ Ah ! now  I understand  why  you  have  taken  that 
paper,  M.  Colbert  ! ” 

Colbert  did  not  perceive  all  that  there  was* of  a threat- 
ening character  in  his  name  pronounced  in  a certain  man- 
ner. “You  will  see  hereafter  what  use  I shall  make  of 
it,”  replied  he,  holding  up  the  order  in  his  fingers. 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  D’Artagnan,  snatching  the  paper 
from  him  by  a rapid  movement,  “ I understand  it  per- 
fectly well,  M.  Colbert ; I have  no  occasion  to  wait  for 
that ; ” and  he  crumpled  up  in  his  pocket  the  paper  he 
had  so  cleverly  seized. 

“ Monsieur  ! Monsieur  ! ” cried  Colbert,  “ that  is  vio- 
lence ! ” 

“Nonsense!  you  must  not  be  particular  about  the 
manners  of  a soldier  ! ” replied  the  musketeer.  61  Receive 
my  compliments,  my  dear  M.  Colbert ! ” and  he  went  out, 
laughing  in  the  face  of  the  future  minister. 

“ That  man,  now,”  muttered  he,  “ was  about  to  adore 
me ; it  is  a great  pity  I was  obliged  to  part  company 
with  him.” 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HEART  AND  MIND.  151 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HEART  AND  MIND. 

For  a man  who  had  seen  so  many  much  more  dangerous 
positions,  that  of  D’Artagnan  with  respect  to  M.  Colbert 
was  only  comic.  D’Artagnan,  therefore,  did  not  deny 
himself  the  satisfaction  of  laughing  at  the  expense  of 
Monsieur  the  Intendant,  from  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits- 
Champs  to  the  Rue  des  Lombards.  It  was  a great  while 
since  D’Artagnan  had  laughed  so  long.  He  was  still 
laughing  when  Planchet  appeared,  laughing  likewise,  at 
the  door  of  his  house ; for  Planchet,  since  the  return  of 
his  patron,  since  the  entrance  of  the  English  guineas, 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  doing  what  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  done  only  from  the  Rue  Neuve  des  Petits- 
Champs  to  the  Rue  des  Lombards. 

“You have  come,  then,  my  dear  master  1 ” said  Planchet. 
“ No,  my  friend,”  replied  the  musketeer  ; “ I am  going 
and  that  quickly.  I will  sup  with  you,  go  to  bed,  sleep 
five  hours,  and  at  break  of  day  leap  into  my  saddle. 
Has  my  horse  had  an  extra  feedP’ 

“Eh  ! my  dear  master,”  replied  Planchet,  “you  know 
very  well  that  your  horse  is  the  jewel  of  the  family  ; that 
my  lads  are  caressing  it  all  day,  and  cramming  it  with 
sugar,  nuts,  and  biscuits.  You  ask  me  if  he  has  had  an 
extra  feed  of  oats  ; you  should  ask  if  he  has  not  had 
enough  to  burst  him  ten  times  over.” 

“Very  well,  Planchet ; that  is  all  right.  Now,  then,  I 
pass  to  what  concerns  me,  — my  supper  1 ” 


152 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Ready.  A smoking  roast,  white  wine,  crawfish,  and 
fresh-gathered  cherries.  That  is  something  new,  my 
master.77 

“ You  are  a capital  fellow,  Planchet ; come  on,  then, 
let  us  sup,  and  I will  go  to  bed.’7 

During  supper  D ’Art agnail  observed  that  Planchet  kept 
rubbing  his  forehead,  as  if  to  facilitate  the  issue  of  some 
idea  closely  pent  within  his  brain.  He  looked  with  an 
air  of  kindness  at  this  worthy  companion  of  his  former 
trials,  and  clinking  glass  against  glass,  “ Come,  Friend 
Planchet/7  said  he,  “ let  us  see  what  it  is  that  gives  you 
so  much  trouble  to  announce  to  me.  Mordioux  ! speak 
freely,  and  you  will  speak  quickly.77 

“ Well,  this  is  it,’7  answered  Planchet ; “ you  appear  to 
me  to  be  going  on  some  expedition  or  other.77 

“ I don't  say  that  I am  not.” 

“ Then  you  have  some  new  idea  % 77 

“ That  is  possible,  too,  Planchet.77 

“ Then  there  will  be  a fresh  capital  to  be  ventured.  I 
will  lay  down  fifty  thousand  livres  upon  the  idea  you  are 
about  to  carry  out ; 77  and  so  saying,  Planchet  rubbed  his 
hands  one  against  the  other  with  a rapidity  evincing  great- 
delight. 

“ Planchet,77  said  D’Artagnan,  “ there  is  but  one  mis- 
fortune in  it.77 

“ And  what  is  that  1 77 

“ That  the  idea  is  not  mine.  I can  risk  nothing  upon 
it.77  These  words  drew  a deep  sigh  from  the  heart  of 
Planchet.  Avarice  is  an  ardent  counsellor : she  car- 
ries away  her  man,  as  Satan  did  Jesus,  to  the  moun- 
tain ; and  when  once  she  has  shown  to  an  unfortunate 
man  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth,  she  may  take  her 
ease,  knowing  full  well  that  she  has  left  her  companion 
Envy  to  gnaw  his  heart,  Planchet  had  tasted  of  riches 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HEART  AND  MIND.  153 


easily  acquired,  and  was  never  afterwards  likely  to  limit 
his  desires ; but  as  he  had  a good  heart  in  spite  of  his 
covetousness,  as  he  adored  D’Artagnan,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  paying  him  a thousand  compliments,  each 
more  affectionate  than  the  others.  He  would  not  have 
been  sorry,  nevertheless,  to  have  caught  a little  hint 
of  the  secret  his  master  concealed  so  well ; but  tricks, 
turns,  counsels,  and  traps  were  all  useless,  — D’Artagnan 
let  nothing  confidential  escape  him. 

The  evening  passed  thus.  After  supper  the  portman- 
teau occupied  D’Artagnan’s  attention ; he  took  a turn  to 
the  stable,  patted  his  horse,  and  examined  his  shoes  and 
legs ; then,  having  counted  over  his  money,  he  went  to 
bed,  sleeping  as  if  only  twenty  years  old,  because  he  had 
neither  anxiety  nor  remorse ; he  closed  his  eyes  five 
minutes  after  having  blown  out  his  light.  Yet  there 
were  many  things  to  keep  him  awake.  Thought  surged 
in  his  brain,  conjectures  abounded,  and  D’Artagnan  was  a 
great  drawer  of  horoscopes ; but  with  that  imperturb- 
able phlegm  which  does  more  than  genius  for  the  fortune 
and  happiness  of  men  of  action,  he  put  off  reflection  till 
the  next  day,  for  fear,  he  said,  that  he  might  not  be 
fresh  when  he  wanted  to  be  so. 

The  day  came.  The  Rue  des  Lombards  had  its  share 
of  the  caresses  of  Aurora  with  the  rosy  fingers,  and 
D’Artagnan  arose  wTith  Aurora.  He  did  not  awaken  any- 
body ; he  placed  his  portmanteau  under  his  arm,  de- 
scended the  stairs  without  making  one  of  them  creak, 
and  without  disturbing  one  of  the  sleepers  whose  sono- 
rous breathing  might  be  heard  in  every  story  from  garret 
to  cellar;  then,  having  saddled  his  horse  and  shut  the 
stable  and  house  doors,  he  set  off,  at  a foot-pace,  on  his 
expedition  to  Bretagne.  He  had  done  quite  right  in  not 
thinking  over,  the  evening  before,  all  the  political  and 


154 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


diplomatic  affairs  which  solicited  his  attention ; for  in 
the  morning,  in  the  freshness  of  the  mild  twilight,  his 
ideas  developed  themselves  with  clearness  and  fluency. 
In  the  first  place,  as  he  passed  the  house  of  Fouquet, 
he  threw  into  a large  gaping  box  at  the  superintendent’s 
door  the  fortunate  order  which,  the  evening  before,  he 
had  had  so  much  trouble  to  extract  from  the  hooked 
fingers  of  the  intendant.  Placed  in  an  envelope,  and 
addressed  to  Fouquet,  its  nature  had  not  even  been 
divined  by  Planchet,  who  in  divination  was  equal  to 
Calchas  or  the  Pythian  Apollo.  D’Artagnan  thus  sent 
back  the  receipt  to  Fouquet,  without  compromising  him- 
self, and  without  having  thenceforward  any  reproaches 
to  make  himself.  When  he  had  effected  this  proper 
restitution,  “ Now,”  said  he  to  himself,  “ let  us  inhale 
freely  the  morning  air ; let  us  invite  freedom  from  care, 
and  abundant  health  ; let  us  allow  the  horse  Zephyr, 
whose  flanks  swell  as  if  he  had  to  snuff  in  a hemisphere, 
to  breathe  ; and  let  us  be  very  ingenious  in  our  little  cal- 
culations. It  is  time,”  pursued  D’Artagnan,  “ to  form  a 
plan  of  the  campaign  ; and,  according  to  the  method  of 
M.  de  Turenne,  who  has  a very  large  head  full  of  all  sorts 
of  good  counsel,  before  the  plan  of  the  campaign  it  is  ad- 
visable to  draw  a portrait  of  the  generals  to  whom  we  are 
to  be  opposed.  In  the  first  place,  M.  Fouquet  presents 
himself.  What  is  M.  Fouquet  ? M.  Fouquet,”  replied 
D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ is  a handsome  man,  very  much 
beloved  by  the  women ; a generous  man,  very  much 
beloved  by  the  poets ; a man  of  wit,  much  execrated  by 
pretenders.  I am  neither  woman,  poet,  nor  pretender ; 
I neither  love  nor  hate  Monsieur  the  Superintendent.  I 
find  myself,  therefore,  in  the  same  position  in  which  M. 
de  Turenne  found  himself  when  he  had  to  win  the  Battle 
of  the  Dunes.  He  did  not  hate  the  Spaniards,  but  he 


PHILOSOPHY  OF  THE  HEART  AND  MIND.  155 

beat  them  soundly.  No,  there  is  a better  example  ; I 
am  in  the  same  position  in  which  M.  de  Turenne  found 
himself  when  opposed  to  the  Prince  de  Conde  at  Jargeau, 
Gien,  and  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine.  He  did  not  exe- 
crate Monsieur  the  Prince,  it  is  true,  but  he  obeyed  the 
king.  Monsieur  the  Prince  is  an  agreeable  man,  but  the 
king  is  king.  Turenne  heaved  a deep  sigh,  called  Conde 
‘ My  cousin/  and  swept  away  his  army.  Now,  what  does 
the  king  wish?  That  does  not  concern  me.  Now,  what 
does  M.  Colbert  wish  ? Oh,  that ’s  another  thing.  M. 
Colbert  wishes  all  that  M.  Fouquet  does  not  wish.  Then 
what  does  M.  Fouquet  wish?  Oh,  that  is  serious!  M. 
Fouquet  wishes  precisely  all  that  the  king  wishes.” 

This  monologue  ended,  D’Artagnan  began  to  laugh, 
while  making  his  whip  whistle  in  the  air.  He  was 
already  on  the  high-road,  frightening  the  birds  in  the 
hedges,  listening  to  the  louis  dancing  in  his  leather 
pocket  at  every  step  ; and,  let  us  confess  it,  every  time 
that  D’Artagnan  found  himself  in  such  circumstances, 
tenderness  was  not  his  dominant  vice.  “ Come,”  said  he, 
“ the  expedition  is  not  a very  dangerous  one  ; and  it  will 
fall  out  with  my  voyage  as  with  that  play  M.  Monk  took 
me  to  see  in  London,  which  was  called,  I think,  ‘ Much 
Ado  about  Nothing.  ’ ” 


156 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  JOURNEY. 

It  was  perhaps  the  fiftieth  time  since  the  day  on  which 
we  opened  this  history,  that  this  man,  with  a heart  of  bronze 
and  muscles  of  steel,  had  left  house  and  friends  — every- 
thing, in  short  — to  go  in  search  of  fortune  and  death* 
The  one  — that  is  to  say,  Death  — had  constantly  re- 
treated before  him,  as  if  afraid  of  him ; the  other  — that 
is  to  say,.  Fortune  — only  for  a month  past  had  really 
made  an  alliance  with  him.  Although  he  was  not  a great 
philosopher,  after  the  fashion  of  either  Epicurus  or  Soc- 
rates, his  was  a powerful  mind,  having  knowledge  of  life 
and  endowed  with  thought.  No  one  is  as  brave,  as  ad- 
venturous, or  as  skilful  as  D’Artagnan,  without  being  at 
the  same  time  inclined  to  be  a dreamer.  He  had  picked 
up  here  and  there  some  scraps  of  M.  de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld, worthy  of  being  translated  into  Latin  by  the  gen- 
tlemen of  Port  Royal ; and  he  had  made  a collection, 
while  passing  the  time  in  the  society  of  Atlios  and  Ara- 
mis,  of  many  morsels  of  Seneca  and  Cicero,  translated  by 
them  and  applied  to  the  uses  of  common  life.  That  con- 
tempt of  riches  which  our  Gascon  had  observed  as  an 
article  of  faith  during  the  first  thirty-five  years  of  his  life 
had  for  a long  time  been  considered  by  him  as  the  first 
article  of  the  code  of  bravery.  u Article  first,”  said  he  : 
“A  man  is  brave  because  he  has  nothing;  a man  has 
nothing  because  he  despises  riches.”  Therefore,  with 
these  principles,  which,  as  we  have  said,  had  regulated 


THE  JOURNEY. 


157 


the  first  thirty -five  years  of  his  life,  D’Artagnan  was  no 
sooner  possessed  of  riches  than  he  felt  it  necessary  to  ask 
himself  if  in  spite  of  his  riches  he  were  still  brave.  To 
this,  for  any  other  than  D’Artagnan,  the  episode  of  the 
Place  de  Greve  might  have  served  as  an  answer.  Many 
consciences  would  have  been  satisfied  with  it,  but  D’Ar- 
tagnan was  brave  enough  to  ask  himself  sincerely  and 
conscientiously  if  he  were  brave.  Therefore  to  this,  “ But 
it  appears  to  me  that  I drew  promptly  enough  and 
cut  and  thrust  prettily  enough  on  the  Place  de  Greve 
to  be  satisfied  of  my  bravery,”  D’Artagnan  had  himself 
replied  : — 

“ Gently,  Captain  ; that  is  not  an  answer.  I was  brave 
that  day,  because  they  were  burning  my  house  ; and  there 
are  a hundred,  and  even  a thousand,  odds  against  one, 
that  if  those  gentlemen  of  the  riots  had  not  formed  that 
unlucky  idea,  their  plan  of  attack  would  have  succeeded, 
or  at  least  it  would  not  have  been  I who  opposed  myself 
to  it.  Now,  what  will  be  brought  against  me?  I have 
no  house  to  be  burned  in  Bretagne ; I have  no  treasure 
there  that  can  be  taken  from  me.  No  ; but  I have  my 
skin,  - — that  precious  skin  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  which  to 
him  is  worth  more  than  all  the  houses  and  all  the  treas- 
ures of  the  world  ; that  skin  to  which  I cling  above 
everything,  because  it  is,  everything  considered,  the  bind- 
ing of  a body  which  encloses  a heart  very  warm  and  very 
well  satisfied  to  beat  and  consequently  to  live.  Then, 
I do  desire  to  live ; and  in  reality  I live  much  better, 
more  completely,,  since  I have  become  rich.  Who  the 
devil  ever  said  that  money  spoiled  life  ? Upon  my  soul, 
it  is  no  such  thing ; on  the  contrary,  it  seems  as  if  I ab- 
sorbed a double  quantity  of  air  and  sunlight.  Mordioux  ! 
what  will  it  be,  then,  if  I double  that  fortune,  and  if  in- 
stead of  the  switch  I now  .hold  in  my  hand  I should  ever 


158 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


carry  the  baton  of  a marshal  ? Then,  I really  don’t 
know  if  there  will  be,  from  that  moment,  enough  of  air 
and  sunlight  for  me.  In  fact,  this  is  not  a dream ; who 
the  devil  would  oppose  it,  if  the  king  made  me  a duke 
and  a marshal,  as  his  father,  King  Louis  XIII.,  made  a 
duke  and  constable  of  Albert  de  Luynes  1 Am  I not  as 
brave  as  that  imbecile  De  Yitry,  and  much  more  intelli- 
gent than  he  ! Ah  ! that ’s  exactly  what  will  prevent  my 
advancement ; I have  too  much  wit.  Luckily,  if  there  is 
any  justice  in  this  world,  Fortune  owes  me  many  compen- 
sations. She  owes  me,  certainly,  a recompense  for  all  I 
did  for  Anne  of  Austria,  and  an  indemnification  for  all 
she  has  not  done  for  me.  Then  at  the  present  I am  very 
well  with  a king,  and  with  a king  who  has  the  appearance 
of  determining  to  reign.  May  God  keep  him  in  that 
illustrious  road  ! For  if  he  is  resolved  to  reign,  he  will 
want  me ; and  if  he  wants  me,  he  will  give  me  what  he 
has  promised  me,  — warmth  and  light ; so  that  I march, 
comparatively,  to-day,  as  I marched  formerly, — from 
nothing  to  everything.  Only,  the  nothing  of  to-day  is  the 
all  of  former  days ; there  has  only  this  little  change 
taken  place  in  my  life.  And  now  let  us  see  ! let  us  take 
into  consideration  the  heart,  as  I just  now  was  speaking 
of  it.  But,  in  truth,  I only  spoke  of  it  from  memory  ; ” 
and  the  Gascon  applied  his  hand  to  his  breast,  as  if  he 
were  actually  seeking  the  place  where  his  heart  was. 

“ Ah,  wretch ! ” murmured  he,  smiling  with  bitter- 
ness. “Ah,  poor  worm!  You  hoped  for  an  instant  that 
you  had  not  a heart,  and  now  you  finqi  you  have  one,  — 
bad  courtier  as  you  are,  — and  even  one  of  the  most  sedi- 
tious. You  have  a heart  which  speaks  to  you  in  favor  of 
M.  Fouquet.  And  what  is  M.  Fouquet  when  the  king  is 
in  question!  A conspirator,  a real  conspirator,  who  did 
not  even  give  himself  the  trouble  to  conceal  his  being  a 


THE  JOURNEY. 


159 


conspirator ; therefore,  what  a weapon  would  you  not 
have  against  him,  if  his  good  grace  and  his  intelligence 
had  not  made  a scabbard  for  that  weapon  ! An  armed  re- 
volt ! — for,  in  fact,  M.  Fouquet  has  been  guilty  of  an 
armed  revolt.  Thus,  while  the  king  vaguely  suspects  M. 
Fouquet  of  rebellion,  I know  it,  — I could  prove  that  M. 
Fouquet  had  caused  the  shedding  of  the  blood  of  his 
Majesty’s  subjects.  Now,  then,  let  us  see  ! Knowing  all 
that,  and  holding  my  tongue,  what  further  would  this 
pitiful  heart  wish  in  return  for  a kind  action  of  M.  Fou- 
quet’s,  for  an  advance  of  fifteen  thousand  livres,  for  a dia- 
mond worth  a thousand  pistoles,  for  a smile  in  which 
there  was  as  much  bitterness  as  kindness?  — I save  his 
life. 

“ Now,  I hope,”  continued  thq*  musketeer,  “ that  this 
imbecile  of  a heart  is  going  to  preserve  silence,  and  so  be 
fairly  quits  with  M.  Fouquet.  Now,  then,  the  king  be- 
comes my  sun ; and  as  my  heart  is  quits  with  M.  Fou- 
quet, let  him  beware  who  places  himself  between  me 
and  my  sun ! Forward,  for  his  Majesty  Louis  XI Y.  ! 
forward  ! ” 

These  reflections  were  the  only  impediments  which 
could  retard  the  progress  of  D’Artagnan.  These  reflec- 
tions once  finished,  he  increased  the  speed  of  his  horse. 
But,  however  perfect  his  horse  Zephyr  might  be,  he  could 
not  go  on  forever.  The  day  after  his  departure  from 
Paris,  he  left  him  at  Chartres,  with  an  old  friend  he 
had  met  in  a hotel-keeper  of  that  city.  From  that  mo- 
ment the  musketeer  travelled  on  post-horses.  Thanks  to 
this  mode  of  locomotion,  he  traversed  the  space  which 
separates  Chartres  from  Chateaubriand.  In  the  last  of 
these  two  cities,  far  enough  from  the  coast  to  prevent  any 
one  guessing  that  D’Artagnan  wished  to  reach  the  sea,  — 
far  enough  from  Paris  to  prevent  all  suspicion  of  his 


160 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


coming  as  a messenger  from  his  Majesty,  Louis  XIV., 
whom  D’Artagnan  had  called  his  sun,  without  suspecting 
that  he  who  was  only  at  present  a rather  poor  star  in  the 
heaven  of  royalty,  would  one  day  make  that  star  his  em- 
blem,— the  messenger  of  Louis  XIV.,  we  say,  gave  up 
post-horses  and  purchased  a nag  of  the  meanest  appear- 
ance, one  of  those  animals  which  an  officer  of  cavalry 
would  never  think  of  choosing  for  fear  of  being  disgraced 
Excepting  the  color,  this  new  acquisition  recalled  to  the 
mind  of  D’Artagnan  the  famous  orange-colored  horse 
with  which,  or  rather  upon  which,  he  had  made  his  first 
entrance  into  active  life.  Truth  to  say,  from  the  moment 
he  mounted  this  new  steed,  it  was  no  longer  D’Artagnan 
wdio  was  travelling,  — it  was  a good  man  clothed  in  an 
iron-gray  close  coat  an<J  maroon  trunk-hose,  preserving 
the  mean  between  a priest  and  a layman  ; that  which 
brought  him  nearest  to  the  churchman  was  that  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  placed  on  his  head  a skull-cap  of  threadbare 
velvet,  and  over  it  a large  black  hat.  In  place  of  a sword, 
a stick,  hung  by  a cord  to  his  wrist ; but  to  which  he 
promised  himself  to  join  as  an  unexpected  auxiliary,  upon 
occasion,  a good  dagger,  ten  inches  long,  concealed  under 
his  cloak.  The  nag  purchased  at  Chateaubriand  com.' 
pleted  the  metamorphosis ; it  was  called,  or  rather  D’Ar- 
tagnan called  it,  Furet  (ferret). 

“If  I have  changed  Zephyr  into  Furet,”  said  D’Ar- 
tagnan, “ I must  make  some  diminutive  or  other  of  my 
own  name.  So,  instead  of  D’Artagnan,  I will  be  Agnan, 
for  short ; that  is  a concession  which  I naturally  owe  to 
my  gray  coat,  my  round  hat,  and  my  rusty  cap.” 

M.  Agnan,  then,  travelled  without  too  great  a shaking 
up  upon  Furet,  who  ambled  like  a true  butter-woman’s 
pad,  and  who  with  his  amble  made  cheerfully  twelve 
leagues  a day,  upon  four  spindle-shanks  whose  strength 


THE  JOURNEY. 


161 


and  sureness  the  practised-  eye  of  D’Artagnan  had  appre- 
ciated beneath  the  thick  mass  of  hair  which  covered 
them.  Jogging  along,  the  traveller  took  notes,  studied 
the  stern  and  cold  landscape  through  which  he  was  trav- 
elling, ever  seeking  the  most  plausible  pretext  to  go  to 
Belle-Isle-en-Mer,  and  to  see  everything  without  arousing 
suspicion.  In  this  manner  he  was  enabled  to  convince 
himself  of  the  importance  the  event  assumed  in  propor- 
tion as  he  drew  near  to  it.  In  this  remote  country,  in  this 
ancient  duchy  of  Bretagne,  — which  was  not  France  at  that 
period,  and  is  not  even  to-day,  — the  people  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  King  of  France.  They  not  only  did  not  know 
him,  but  they  were  unwilling  to  know  him.  One  fact  — 
a single  one  — floated  visibly  for  them  upon  the  current 
of  politics.  Their  ancient  dukes  no  longer  governed 
them  ; but  there  was  a void,  — nothing  more.  In  the 
place  of  the  sovereign  duke,  the  seigneurs  of  parishes 
reigned  without  control ; and,  above  these  seigneurs,  God, 
who  has  never  been  forgotten  in  Bretagne.  Among  these 
suzerains  of  castles  and  parishes,  the  most  powerful,  the 
most  rich,  and  above  all  the  most  popular,  was  M.  Fou- 
quet,  seigneur  of  Belle-Isle.  Even  in  the  country,  even 
within  sight  of  that  mysterious  isle,  legends  and  tradi- 
tions consecrated  its  wonders.  Every  one  did  not  pene- 
trate into  it ; the  isle,  of  an  extent  of  six  leagues  in 
length  and  six  in  breadth,  was  a seigniorial  property 
which  the  people  had  for  a long  time  respected,  protected 
as  it  was  by  the  name  of  Retz,  so  much  dreaded  in 
the  country.  Shortly  after  the  raising  of  this  seigniory 
to  a marquisate  by  Charles  IX.,  Belle-Isle  passed  to  M. 
Fouquet.  The  celebrity  of  the  isle  did  not  date  from 
yesterday ; its  name,  or  rather  its  qualification,  is  traced 
back  to  the  remotest  antiquity ; the  ancients  called  it 
Kalonese,  from  two  Greek  words,  signifying  u beautiful 

VOL.  II.  — 11 


162 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


isle.”  Thus,  at  a distance  of  eighteen  hundred  years,  it 
had  borne,  in  another  language,  the  same  name  it  still 
bears.  There  was,  then,  something  in  itself  in  this  prop- 
erty of  M.  Fouquet’s,  besides  its  position  six  leagues  off 
the  coast  of  France,  — a position  which  makes  it  a sovereign 
in  its  maritime  solitude,  like  a majestic  ship  which  should 
disdain  roads,  and  proudly  cast  its  anchor  in  mid-ocean. 

D’Artagnan  learned  all  this  without  appearing  the  least 
in  the  world  astonished.  He  also  learned  that  the  best 
way  to  get  intelligence  was  to  go  to  La  Roche-Bernard, 
a tolerably  important  city  at  the  mouth  of  the  Vilaine. 
Perhaps  there  he  could  embark ; if  not,  crossing  the  salt 
marshes,  he  would  repair  to  Guerande  or  to  Le  Croisic, 
to  wait  for  an  opportunity  to  cross  over  to  Belle-Isle.  He 
had  discovered,  besides,  since  his  departure  from  Chateau- 
briand, that  nothing  would  be  impossible  for  Furet  un- 
der M.  Agnan’s  urging,  and  nothing  to  M.  Agnail  upon 
Furet’s  example.  He  prepared,  then,  to  sup  off  a teal 
and  an  oil-cake,  in  a hotel  of  La  Roche-Bernard,  and 
ordered  to  be  brought  from  the  cellar,  to  wash  down  these 
two  Breton  dishes,  some  cider,  which,  the  moment  it 
touched  his  lips,  he  perceived  to  be  more  Breton  still. 


P’ARTAGNAN  AND  THE  POET. 


163 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

how  d’artagnan  became  acquainted  with  a poet  who 

HAD  TURNED  PRINTER  FOR  THE  SAKE  OF  PRINTING  HIS 

OWN  VERSES. 

Before  taking  his  place  at  table,  D’Artagnan  acquired, 
as  was  his  custom,  all  the  information  he  could ; but  it  is 
an  axiom  of  curiosity,  that  every  man  who  wishes  to 
question  well  and  fruitfully  ought  in  the  first  place  to  lay 
himself  open  to  questions.  D’Artagnan  sought,  then, 
with  his  usual  skill,  a useful  questioner  in  the  hostelry  of 
La  Roche-Bernard.  At  the  moment  there  were  in  the 
house,  in  the  first  story,  two  travellers  occupied  also  in 
preparations  for  supper,  or  with  their  supper  itself.  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  seen  their  nags  in  the  stable,  and  their  bag- 
gage in  the  hall.  One  travelled  with  a lackey,  as  an 
important  personage  ; two  Perche  mares  — sleek,  sound 
beasts  — were  their  means  of  locomotion.  The  other  — 
rather  a little  fellow,  a traveller  of  meagre  appearance, 
wearing  a dusty  surtout,  dirty  linen,  boots  more  worn 
by  the  pavement  than  the  stirrup  — had  come  from 
Nantes  with  a cart  drawn  by  a horse  so  like  Furet  in 
color,  that  D’Artagnan  might  have  gone  a hundred  miles 
without  finding  a better  match.  This  cart  contained 
divers  large  packets  wrapped  up  in  pieces  of  old  stuff. 

“That  traveller  there,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself, 
“ is  the  man  for  my  money.  He  will  do ; he  suits  me.  I 
ought  to  do  for  and  suit  him ; M.  Agnan,  with  the  gray 
doublet  and  the  rusty  cap,  is  not  unworthy  of  supping 
with  the  gentleman  of  the  old  boots  and  the  old  horse.” 


164 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNK. 


This  being  said,  D’Artagnan  called  the  host,  and  desired 
him  to  send  his  teal,  oil-cake,  and  cider  up  to  the  room 
of  the  gentleman  of  modest  exterior.  He  himself  climbed, 
a plate  in  his  hand,  the  wooden  staircase  which  led  to 
the  chamber,  and  began  to  knock  at  the  door. 

“ Come  in  ! ” said  the  unknown.  D’Artagnan  entered, 
with  a simper  on  his  lips,  his  plate  under  his  arm,  his  hat 
in  one  hand,  his  candle  in  the  other. 

“ Excuse  me,  Monsieur,”  said  he ; “ I am,  as  you  are,  a 
traveller.  I know  no  one  in  the  hotel,  and  I have  the 
bad  habit  of  losing  my  spirits  when  I eat  alone ; so  that 
my  repast  appears  a bad  one  to  me,  and  does  not  nourish 
me.  Your  face,  which  I saw  just  now,  when  you  came 
down  to  have  some  oysters  opened, — your  face  pleased 
me  much.  Besides,  I have  observed  that  you  have  a 
horse  just  like  mine,  and  that  the  host,  no  doubt  on  ac- 
count of  that  resemblance,  has  placed  them  side  by  side 
in  the  stable,  where  they  appear  to  agree  amazingly 
well.  I therefore,  Monsieur,  cannot  see  why  the  mas- 
ters should  be  separated  when  the  horses  are  together. 
In  consequence,  I am  come  to  request  the  pleasure  of 
being  admitted  to  your  table.  My  name  is  Agnan  at 
your  service,  Monsieur,  the  unworthy  steward  of  a rich 
seigneur,  who  wishes  to  purchase  some  salt-mines  in  this 
country,  and  sends  me  to  examine  his  future  acquisitions. 
In  truth,  Monsieur,  I should  be  well  pleased  if  my  coun- 
tenance were  as  agreeable  to  you  as  yours  is  to  me ; for, 
upon  my  honor,  I like  you  exceedingly.” 

The  stranger,  whom  D’Artagnan  saw  for  the  first  time, 
— for  before  he  had  only  caught  a glimpse  of  him,  — the 
stranger  had  black  and  brilliant  eyes,  a yellow  complex- 
ion, a brow  a little  wrinkled  by  the  weight  of  fifty  years, 
simplicity  in  his  features  collectively,  but  a little  cunning 
in  the  glance  of  his  eye. 


D’ARTAGNAN  AND  THE  POET. 


165 


“ One  would  say,5’  thought  D’Artagnan,  “ that  this 
merry  fellow  has  never  exercised  more  than  the  upper 
part  of  his  head,  his  eyes,  and  his  brain.  He  must  be  a 
man  of  science ; his  mouth,  nose,  and  chin  signify  abso- 
lutely nothing.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  the  latter,  with  whose  mind  and 
person  we  have  been  making  so  free,  “ you  do  me  much 
honor.  Not  that  I am  ever  low-spirited,  for  I have,” 
added  he,  smiling,  “ company  which  amuses  me  always  ; 
but,  never  mind  that,  I am  very  happy  to  receive  you.” 
But  while  saying  this,  the  man  with  the  worn  boots  cast 
an  uneasy  look  at  his  table,  from  which  the  oysters  had 
disappeared,  and  upon  which  there  was  nothing  left  but 
a morsel  of  salt  bacon. 

“ Monsieur,”  D’Artagnan  hastened  to  say,  “ the  host 
is  bringing  me  up  a fine  piece  of  roasted  poultry  and  a 
superb  oil-cake.”  D’Artagnan  had  read  in  the  look  of 
his  companion,  however  rapid  it  had  been,  the  fear  of  an 
attack  by  a parasite  ; he  guessed  rightly.  At  this  over- 
ture the  features  of  the  man  of  modest  exterior  relaxed ; 
and  as  if  he  had  watched  the  moment  for  his  entrance, 
the  host  straightway  appeared,  bearing  the  dishes  men- 
tioned. The  oil-cake  and  the  teal  were  added  to  the 
morsel  of  broiled  bacon  ; D’Artagnan  and  his  guest  bowed 
to  each  other,  sat  down  face  to  face,  and,  like  two 
brothers,  shared  the  bacon  and  the  other  dishes. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “you  must  confess  that 
partnership  is  a wonderful  thing.” 

“How  sol”  replied  the  stranger,  with  his  mouth  full. 

“Well,  I will  tell  you,”  replied  D’Artagnan. 

The  stranger  gave  a short  truce  to  the  movement  of 
his  jawTs,  in  order  to  hear  the  better. 

“In  the  first  place,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  “instead 
of  one  candle,  which  each  of  us  had,  we  have  two.” 


1 66 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ That  is  true  ! ” said  the  stranger,  struck  with  the 
extreme  justness  of  the  observation. 

“Then  I see  that  you  eat  my  oil-cake  by  preference, 
while  I,  by  preference,  eat  your  bacon.” 

“ That  is  true,  again.” 

“And  then,  besides  the  pleasure  of  being  better  lighted 
and  eating  things  according  to  our  taste,  I add  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  company.” 

“Truly,  Monsieur,  you  are  very  jovial,”  said  the  un- 
known, cheerfully. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,  jovial,  as  all  people  are  who  carry 
nothing  in  their  heads.  Oh  ! I can  see  it  is  quite  another 
sort  of  thing  with  you,”  continued  D’Artagnan  ; “ 1 can 
read  in  your  eyes  all  sorts  of  genius.” 

“Oh,  Monsieur  ! ” 

“ Come,  confess  one  thing.” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ That  you  are  a learned  man.” 

“ Faith,  Monsieur.” 

“ Hey?” 

“Almost.” 

“ Come,  then  ! ” 

“ I am  an  author.” 

“ There ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  clapping  his  hands  in 
delight ; “ I knew  I could  not  be  deceived  ! It  is  a 
miracle ! ” 

“ Monsieur  — ” 

“ What ! shall  I have  the  honor  of  passing  the  evening 
in  the  society  of  an  author,  — of  a celebrated  author, 
perhaps  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  the  unknown,  blushing,  “ ‘ celebrated,’  Mon- 
sieur, ‘ celebrated  ’ is  not  the  word.” 

“ Modest ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  enraptured,  “ he  is 
modest ! ” Then,  turning  towards  the  stranger,  with  an 


D’ARTAGNAN  AND  THE  POET. 


167 


air  of  blunt  good  nature,  — “ But  tell  me  at  least  the  names 
of  your  works,  Monsieur ; for  you  will  please  to  observe 
you  have  not  told  me  your  own,  and  I have  been  forced 
to  divine  your  genius.” 

“ My  name  is  Jupenet,  Monsieur,”  said  the  author. 

“ A fine  name  ! a fine  name  ! upon  my  word ; and  I do 
not  know  why  — pardon  me  the  blunder,  if  it  be  one  — 
but  surely  I have  heard  that  name  somewhere.’ ’ 

“ I have  made  verses,”  said  the  poet,  modestly. 

“ Ah  ! that  is  it,  then ; I have  heard  them  read.” 

“ A tragedy.” 

“ I must  have  seen  it  played.” 

The  poet  blushed  again,  and  said  : “ I do  not  think 
that  can  be  the  case,  for  my  verses  have  not  been  printed.” 

“ Well,  then,  it  must  have  been  the  tragedy  which 
acquainted  me  with  your  name.” 

“You  are  again  mistaken,  for  the  comedians  of  the 
Hotel  de  Bourgogne  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,” 
said  the  poet,  with  the  smile  of  which  certain  kinds  of 
pride  alone  know  the  secret.  D’Artagnan  bit  his  lips. 
“Thus,  then,  you  see,  Monsieur,”  continued  the  poet, 
“you  are  in  error  on  my  account,  and  that,  not  being 
at  all  known  to  you,  you  have  never  heard  me  spoken 
of.” 

“And  that  confounds  me.  That  name,  Jupenet,  ap- 
pears to  me,  nevertheless,  a fine  name,  and  quite  as  worthy 
of  being  known  as  those  of  Corneille  or  Rotrou  or  Gamier. 
I hope,  Monsieur,  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  repeat  to 
me  a part  of  your  tragedy  presently,  by  way  of  dessert, 
for  instance.  That  will  be  sugared  toast,  — mordioux  ! 
Ah ! pardon  me,  Monsieur,  that  was  a little  oath  which 
escaped  me,  because  it  is  a habit  with  my  lord  and 
master.  I sometimes  allow  myself  to  usurp  that  little 
oath,  as  it  seems  in  good  taste.  I take  this  liberty  only 


168 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


in  his  absence,  please  to  observe  ; for  you  may  understand 
that  in  his  presence — But,  in  truth,  Monsieur,  this 
cider  is  abominable,  do  you  not  think  so  ? And  besides, 
the  pot  is  of  such  an  irregular  shape  it  will  not  stand  on 
the  table.” 

“ Suppose  we  wedge  it  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure  ; but  with  what?” 

“ With  this  knife.” 

“ And  the  teal,  — with  what  shall  we  cut  that  up?  Do 
you  not  mean  to  touch  the  teal  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Well  then  — ” 

“ Wait.” 

The  poet  rummaged  in  his  pocket,  and  drew  out  a small 
piece  of  metal,  oblong,  quadrangular,  about  a line  in  thick- 
ness and  an  inch  and  a half  in  length.  But  scarcely  had 
this  little  piece  of  metal  seen  the  light,  when  the  poet 
appeared  to  think  he  had  committed  an  imprudence,  and 
made  a motion  to  put  it  back  again  in  his  pocket.  D’Ar- 
tagnan  perceived  this,  — for  he  was  a man  whom  nothing 
escaped.  He  stretched  forth  his  hand  towards  the  piece 
of  metal : “ Humph  ! that  which  you  hold  in  your  hand 
is  pretty;  may  I look  at  it?  ” 

“ Certainly,”  said  the  poet,  who  appeared  to  have 
yielded  too  soon  to  a first  impulse,  — “ certainly,  you  may 
look  at  it.  But  it  will  be  in  vain  for  you  to  look  at  it,” 
added  he,  with  a satisfied  air ; “ if  I were  not  to  tell  you 
the  use  of  that,  you  would  never  guess  it.” 

D’Artagnan  had  interpreted  as  a confession  the  hesita- 
tion of  the  poet,  and  his  eagerness  to  conceal  the  piece  of 
metal  which  a first  impulse  had  induced  him  to  take  out 
of  his  pocket.  His  attention,  therefore,  once  awakened 
on  this  point,  he  indued  himself  with  a vigilance  which 
gave  him  a superiority  upon  all  occasions.  Besides,  what- 


D’ARTAGNAN  AND  THE  POET. 


169 


ever  M.  Jupenet  might  say  about  it,  by  the  simple  inspec- 
tion of  the  object,  he  had  known  perfectly  what  it  was. 
It  was  a character  used  in  printing. 

“ Can  you  guess,  now,  what  this  is'?”  continued  the 
poet. 

“ No,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “no,  faith  ! ” 

“Well,  Monsieur,”  said  M.  Jupenet,  “this  little  piece 
of  metal  is  a printing  letter.” 

“ Bah  ! ” 

“A  capital  letter.” 

“ Stop  ! stop  ! stop  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  opening  his  eyes 
very  innocently. 

“Yes,  Monsieur,  a capital  J ; the  first  letter  of  my 
name.” 

“ And  this  is  a letter,  is  it  1 ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ Well,  I will  confess  one  thing  to  you.” 

“ And  what  is  that  1 ” 

“ No,  I will  not ; I was  going  to  say  something  very 
stupid.” 

“ Oh,  no  ! ” said  Master  Jupenet,  with  a patronizing  air. 
“ Well,  then,  I cannot  comprehend,  if  that  is  a letter, 
how  you  can  make  a word.” 

“ A word  *?  ” 

“ Yes,  a printed  word.” 

“ Oh,  that  ?s  very  easy.” 

“ Let  me  see.” 

“ Does  it  interest  you  1 ” 

“ Enormously.” 

“ Well,  I will  explain  the  thing  to  you.  Attend  ! ” 

“ I am  attending.” 

“ Here  it  is.” 

“ Good  ! ” 

“ Look  attentively.” 


170 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I am  looking/' ’ D’Artagnan,  in  fact,  appeared  ab- 

sorbed in  his  contemplation.  Jupenet  drew  from  his 
pocket  seven  or  eight  other  pieces  of  metal,  but  smaller 
than  the  first. 

“ Ah  ! ah  ! ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“ What  ? ” 

“ You  have,  then,  a whole  printing-office  in  your  pocket. 
Peste!  that  is  curious  indeed.” 

“ Is  it  not  ? ” 

“ Good  God ! what  a number  of  things  we  learn  by 
travelling  ! ” 

“ To  your  health  ! ” said  Jupenet,  quite  enchanted. 

“ To  yours,  mordioux  ! to  yours.  But  — an  instant  — 
not  in  this  cider.  It  is  an  abominable  drink,  unworthy 
of  a man  who  quenches  his  thirst  at  the  Hippocrene 
fountain ; is  it  not  thus  you  call  your  fountain,  you 
poets  ? ” 

“Yes,  Monsieur,  our  fountain  is  indeed  so  called.  That 
comes  from  two  Greek  words,  — hippos , which  means  a 
horse,  and  — ” 

“ Monsieur,”  interrupted  D’Artagnan,  “ you  shall  drink 
of  a liquor  which  comes  from  one  single  French  word,  and 
is  none  the  worse  for  that,  — from  the  word  grape;  this 
cider  gives  me  the  heartburn.  Allow  me  to  inquire  of 
our  host  if  there  is  not  a good  bottle  of  Beaugency,  or  of 
the  Ceran  growth,  at  the  back  of  the  large  bins  of  his 
cellar.” 

The  host,  being  called,  immediately  attended. 

“Monsieur,”  interrupted  the  poet,  “take  care!  We 
shall  not  have  time  to  drink  the  wine,  unless  we  make  great 
haste,  for  I must  take  advantage  of  the  tide  to  take  the 
boat.” 

“ What  boat  'l  ” asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ Why,  the  boat  which  sets  out  for  Belle-Isle.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  AND  THE  POET. 


171 


“Ah!  fur  Belle-Isle?”  said  the  musketeer;  “that  is 
good.” 

“ Bah  ! you  will  have  plenty  of  time,  Monsieur,”  replied 
the  hotel-keeper,  uncorking  the  bottle  ; “ the  boat  will  not 
leave  this  hour.” 

“ But  who  will  give  me  notice  ? ” said  the  poet. 

“ Your  neighbor,”  replied  the  host. 

“ But  I scarcely  know  him.” 

“ When  you  hear  him  going,  it  will  be  time  for  you  to 
g°" 

“ Is  he  going  to  Belle-Isle  too  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ The  Monsieur  who  has  a lackey? ” asked  D’Artagnan, 
“ He  is  some  gentleman,  no  doubt  ? ” 

“I  know  nothing  of  him.” 

“ How  ! — know  nothing  of  him  ? ” 

“ No ; all  I know  is,  that  he  is  drinking  the  same  wine 
as  this.” 

“ Peste  ! that  is  a great  honor  for  us,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
filling  his  companion’s  glass,  while  the  host  went  out. 

“ So,”  resumed  the  poet,  returning  to  his  ruling  ideas, 
“you  never  saw  any  printing  done  ?” 

“Never.” 

“ Well,  then,  take  the  letters  thus,  which  compose  the 
word,  you  see:  Ab;  here  is  an  r,  two  e’s,  then  a g ; ” 
and  he  arranged  the  letters  with  a swiftness  and  skill 
which  did  not  escape  the  eye  of  D’Artagnan. 

“ Abrege”  said  he,  as  he  ended. 

“ Good  ! ” said  D’Artagnan.  “ Here  are  plenty  of  letters 
got  together  ; but  how  are  they  kept  so  ? ” and  he  poured 
out  a second  glass  for  his  host.  M.  Jupenet  smiled  like  a 
man  who  has  an  answer  for  everything ; then  he  pulled 
out  — still  from  his  pocket  — a little  metal  instrument 
composed  of  two  parts,  arranged  at  right  angles,  against 


172 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


which  he  put  together  in  a straight  line  the  characters, 
holding  them  under  his  left  thumb. 

“ And  what  do  you  call  that  little  iron  ruler  1 ” said 
D’Artagnan ; “ for,  I suppose,  all  these  things  must  have 
names.’, 

“ This  is  called  a composing-stick,”  said  Jupenet ; “it 
is  by  the  aid  of  this  rule  that  the  lines  are  formed.’ ’ 

“Come,  then,  I was  not  mistaken  in  what  I said;  you 
have  a press  in  your  pocket,”  said  D’Artagnan,  laughing 
with  an  air  of  simplicity  so  stupid  that  the  poet  was 
completely  his  dupe. 

“No,”  replied  he;  “but  I am  too  lazy  to  write,  and 
when  I have  a verse  in  my  head,  I set  it  up  all  ready  for 
printing.  That  is  a labor  spared.” 

“ Mordioux /”  thought  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “this 
must  be  cleared  up  ; ” and  under  a pretext,  which  did 
not  embarrass  the  musketeer,  who  was  fertile  in  ex- 
pedients, he  left  the  table,  went  downstairs,  ran  to  the 
shed  under  which  stood  the  poet’s  little  cart,  and  poked 
the  point  of  his  poniard  into  the  stuff  which  enveloped 
one  of  the  packages,  which  he  found  full  of  types,  like 
those  which  the  printer-poet  had  in  his  pocket. 

“ Humph  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ I do  not  yet  know 
whether  M.  Fouquet  wishes  to  fortify  Belle-Isle  materi- 
ally ; but,  at  all  events,  here  are  some  spiritual  munitions 
for  the  castle.”  Then,  rich  in  his  discovery,  he  ran  up- 
stairs again  to  resume  his  place  at  the  table. 

D’Artagnan  had  learned  what  he  wished  to  know.  He 
none  the  less,  however,  remained  face  to  face  with  his 
partner,  to  the  moment  when  they  heard  from  the  next 
room  the  stirring  about  of  a person  ready  to  go  out. 
The  printer  was  immediately  on  foot ; he  had  given 
orders  for  his  horse  to  be  harnessed.  His  carriage  was 
waiting  at  the  door.  The  second  traveller  got  into  his 


D’ ART  AG  NAN  AND  THE  POET. 


173 


saddle,  in  the  courtyard,  with  his  lackey.  D’Artagnan 
followed  Jupenet  to  the  door.  The  printer  embarked  his 
cart  and  horse  on  board  the  boat.  As  to  the  opulent 
traveller,  he  did  the  same  with  his  two  horses  and  his 
servant.  But  all  the  wit  D’Artagnan  employed  in  en- 
deavoring to  find  out  his  name  was  lost ; he  could  learn 
nothing.  Only,  he  took  such  notice  of  his  countenance, 
that  that  countenance  was  engraved  upon  his  memory 
forever.  D’Artagnan  had  a great  inclination  to  embark 
with  the  two  travellers  ; but  an  interest  more  powerful 
than  curiosity  — that  of  success  — repelled  him  from  the 
shore,  and  brought  him  back  again  to  the  hostelry.  He 
entered  with  a sigh,  and  went  to  bed  directly,  in  order 
to  be  ready  early  in  the  morning  with  fresh  ideas  and 
the  counsel  of  the  night. 


174 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

d’artagnan  continues  his  investigations. 

At  daybreak  D’Artagnan  himself  saddled  Furet,  who 
had  fared  sumptuously  all  the  night,  devouring  the 
remainder  of  the  corn  left  by  his  companions.  The 
musketeer  sifted  all  he  could  out  of  the  host,  whom  he 
found  cunning,  mistrustful,  and  devoted,  body  and  soul, 
to  M.  Fouquet.  In  order,  then,  not  to  awaken  the  sus- 
picions of  this  man,  he  carried  on  his  fable  of  being  a 
probable  purchaser  of  some  salt-mines.  To  have  em- 
barked for  Belle-Isle  at  La  Roche-Bernard  would  have 
been  to  expose  himself  to  comments  which  had  perhaps 
been  already  made,  and  which  would  be  carried  to  the 
castle.  Moreover,  it  was  singular  that  this  traveller  and 
his  lackey  should  have  remained  a secret  to  D’Artagnan, 
in  spite  of  all  the  questions  addressed  by  him  to  the  host, 
who  appeared  to  know  the  man  perfectly  well.  The 
musketeer  then  made  some  inquiries  concerning  the  salt- 
mines, and  took  the  road  to  the  marshes,  leaving  the  sea 
to  his  right,  and  penetrating  into  that  vast  and  desolate 
plain  which  resembles  a sea  of  mud,  of  which  here  and 
there  a few  crests  of  salt  silver  the  undulations. 

Furet  progressed  admirably,  with  his  nervous  little  legs, 
along  the  foot-wide  causeways  which  separate  the  salt- 
mines. D’Artagnan,  aware  of  the  consequences  of  a fall, 
which  would  result  in  a cold  bath,  allowed  him  to  go  as 
he  liked,  contenting  himself  with  looking  at  three  rocks 
in  the  distance,  which  rose  up  like  lance-blades  from  the 


D’ARTAGNAN  CONTINUES  HIS  INVESTIGATIONS.  175 


bosom  of  the  verdureless  plain.  Pirial,  the  market- 
town  of  Batz,  and  Le  Croisic,  exactly  resembling  each 
other,  attracted  and  held  his  attention.  If  the  traveller 
turned  round,  the  better  to  make  his  observations,  he 
saw  in  the  other  direction  three  other  steeples,  — Gue- 
rande,  Le  Poulighen,  and  St.  Joachim,  — which  in  their 
circumference  represented  a set  of  skittles,  of  which 
he  and  Furet  were  but  the  wandering  ball.  Pirial  was 
the  first  little  port  on  his  right.  He  went  thither,  with 
the  names  of  the  principal  salters  in  his  mouth.  At  the 
moment  when  he  arrived  at  the  little  port  of  Pirial,  five 
large  barges,  laden  with  stone,  were  leaving  it.  It  ap- 
peared strange  to  D’Artagnan  that  stones  should  be 
leaving  a country  where  none  are  found.  He  had  re- 
course to  all  of  M.  Agnail’s  affability  to  learn  from  the 
people  of  the  port  the  cause  of  this  singularity.  An  old 
fisherman  replied  to  M.  Agnail,  that  the  stones  very 
certainly  did  not  come  from  Pirial  or  the  marshes. 

“ Where  do  they  come  from,  then]  ” naively  asked  the 
musketeer. 

“ Monsieur,  they  come  from  Nantes  and  Paimboeuf.,, 

“ Where  are  they  going,  then  ] ” 

“ Monsieur,  to  Belle-Isle.” 

“ Ah ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  in  the  same  tone  he  had  as- 
sumed to  tell  the  printer  that  his  characters  interested 
him;  “ are  they  building  at  Belle-Isle,  then]” 

“ Why,  yes,  Monsieur ; M.  Fouquet  has  the  walls  of  the 
castle  repaired  every  year.” 

“ Is  it  in  ruins,  then  ] ” 

“ It  is  old.” 

“ Thank  you.  The  fact  is,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  him- 
self, “ nothing  is  more  natural  ; every  proprietor  has  a 
right  to  repair  his  property.  It  would  be  like  telling  me 
that  I was  fortifying  the  Image  de  Notre-Dame,  when 


176 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


I should  be  purely  and  simply  obliged  to  rnake  repairs. 
In  truth,  I believe  false  reports  have  been  made  to  his 
Majesty,  and  he  is  very  likely  to  be  in  the  wrong.” 

“ You  must  confess,”  continued  he  then,  aloud,  address- 
ing the  fisherman,  — for  his  role  of  a suspicious  man  was 
imposed  upon  him  by  the  very  object  of  his  mission,  — 
“ you  must  confess,  my  dear  Monsieur,  that  those  stones 
travel  in  a very  curious  fashion.” 

“ Plow  so  ] ” said  the  fisherman. 

“ They  come  from  Nantes  or  Paimbceuf  by  the  Loire, 
do  they  not]  ” 

“ P'hat  is  descending.” 

“ That  is  convenient,  — I don’t  say  it  is  not ; but  why 
do  they  not  go  straight  from  St.  Nazaire  to  Belle-Isle  1” 

“ Eh  ! because  the  barges  are  bad  boats,  and  are  not 
seaworthy,”  replied  the  fisherman. 

“ That  is  not  a reason.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  one  may  see  that  you  have 
never  been  a sailor,”  added  the  fisherman,  not  without  a 
sort  of  disdain. 

“ Pray  explain  that  to  me,  my  good  man.  It  seems  to 
me  that  to  come  from  Paimboeuf  to  Pirial,  and  go  from 
Pirial  to  Belle-Isle,  is  as  if  we  went  from  La  Boche-Ber- 
nard  to  Nantes,  and  from  Nantes  to  Pirial.” 

“By  water  that  would  be  the  nearest  way,”  replied 
the  fisherman,  imperturbably. 

“But  there  is  an  elbow]” 

The  fisherman  shook  his  head. 

“ The  shortest  road  from  one  place  to  another  is  the 
straight  line,”  continued  D’Artagnan. 

“ You  forget  the  tide,  Monsieur.” 

“Well,  take  the  tide.” 

“ And  the  wind.” 

“ Well;  and  the  wind.” 


D’ARTAGNAN  CONTINUES  HIS  INVESTIGATIONS.  177 


“ Without  doubt  ; the  current  of  \ he  Loire  carries  boats 
almost  as  far  as  Le  Croisic.  If  they  want  to  be  repaired 
a little,  or  to  recruit  the  crew,  they  come  to  Pirial  along 
the  coast ; from  Pirial  they  find  another  inverse  current, 
which  carries  them  to  the  Isle-Dumet,  two  leagues  and  a 
half.” 

u Granted.” 

“ There  the  current  of  the  Vilaine  throws  them  upon 
another  isle,  the  isle  of  Hoedic  h ” 

“ I agree  to  that.” 

“Well,  Monsieur,  from  that  isle  to  Belle-Isle  the  way 
is  cpiite  straight.  The  sea,  broken  both  above  and  below, 
passes  like  a canal,  like  a mirror,  between  the  two  isles  ; 
the  barges  glide  along  upon  it,  don’t  you  see,  like  ducks 
upon  the  Loire.” 

“ It  does  not  signify,”  said  the  obstinate  M.  Agnail  j 
“it  is  very  far  about.” 

“Ah,  yes;  but  M.  Fouquet  will  have  it  so,”  replied 
the  fisherman  in  conclusion,  taking  off  his  woollen  cap  at 
the  enunciation  of  that  respected  name. 

A look  from  D’Artagnan,  a look  as  keen  and  piercing 
as  a sword-blade,  found  nothing  in  the  heart  of  the  old 
man  but  simple  confidence,  on  his  features  nothing  but 
satisfaction  and  indifference.  He  said,  “ M.  Fouquet  will 
have  it  so,”  as  he  would  have  said,  “ God  has  willed  it.” 

D’Artagnan  had  already  gone  too  far  in  this  direction  ; 
besides,  the  barges  having  departed,  there  remained  at 
Pirial  nothing  but  a single  boat,  — that  of  the  old  man, 

- — and  it  did  not  look  fit  for  sea  without  great  preparation. 
D’Artagnan  therefore  aroused  Furet,  who,  as  a new  proof 
of  his  charming  character,  resumed  his  march,  with  his 
feet  in  the  salt-mines,  and  his  nose  to  the  dry  wind  which 
bends  the  furze  and  the  scant}^  heather  of  this  country. 
D’Artagnan  reached  Le  Croisic  about  five  o’clock. 
vol.  ir.  — 12 


178 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


If  D’Artagnan  had  been  a poet,  it  would  have  been  a 
beautiful  spectacle,  that  of  the  immense  strand  of  a 
league  or  more,  which  the  sea  covers  at  high  tide,  and 
which  at  the  reflux  appears  gray,  desolate,  spread  over 
with  star-fishes  and  dead  seaweed,  with  its  pebbles  sparse 
and  white,  like  the  bones  in  some  vast  cemetery.  But 
the  soldier,  the  politician,  and  the  ambitious  man  had  no 
longer  the  sweet  consolation  of  looking  towards  heaven, 
to  read  there  a hope  or  a warning.  A red  sky  signifies 
nothing  to  such  men  but  wind  and  storm.  White  and 
fleecy  clouds  upon  the  azure  only  say  that  the  sea  will 
be  smooth  and  peaceful.  D’Artagnan  found  the  sky  blue, 
the  breeze  balmy  with  saline  perfumes,  and  he  said,  “ I 
will  embark  with  the  first  tide,  if  it  be  but  in  a nutshell.” 
At  Le  Croisic,  as  at  Pirial,  he  had  noticed  enormous  heaps 
of  stone  lying  along  the  strand.  These  gigantic  walls, 
demolished  at  every  tide  by  the  transports  going  to  Belle- 
Isle,  were,  in  the  eyes  of  the  musketeer,  the  consequence 
and  the  proof  of  what  he  had  so  well  divined  at  Pirial. 
Was  it  a wall  that  M.  Fouquet  was  rebuilding  1 — was  it 
a fortification  that  he  was  erecting  ? To  ascertain  this,  he 
must  see  it.  D’Artagnan  put  Furet  into  a stable,  supped, 
went  to  bed,  and  on  the  morrow  took  a walk  upon  the 
quay,  or  rather  upon  the  shingle.  Le  Croisic  has  a quay 
fifty  feet  long;  it  has  a look-out  which  resembles  an  enor- 
mous brioche  [a  kind  of  cake]  elevated  on  a dish.  The 
flat  strand  is  the  dish.  Hundreds  of  barrowsful  of  earth, 
solidified  with  the  pebbles,  and  rounded  into  cones,  with 
sinuous  passages  between,  make  the  look-out  and  the 
brioche  at  the  same  time.  It  is  so  now,  it  was  so  two 
hundred  years  ago ; only,  the  brioche  was  less  large,  and 
probably  there  were  not  to  be  seen  trellises  of  lath  around 
the  brioche , which  constitute  the  ornament  of  it,  and  which 
the  aedileship  of  that  poor  and  pious  little  market-town 


D’ARTAGNAN  CONTINUES  TIIS  INVESTIGATIONS.  179 


has  planted  like  hand-rails  along  the  snail-like  passages 
winding  towards  the  little  terrace.  Upon  the  shingle  were 
three  or  four  fishermen  talking  about  sardines  and  shrimps. 
D’Artagnan,  his  eye  animated  with  rough  gayety,  and  a 
smile  upon  his  lips,  approached  these  fishermen. 

“ Any  fishing  going  on  to-day  ?”  said  he. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  one  of  them  ; “ we  are  only 
waiting  for  the  tide.” 

“ Where  do  you  fish,  my  friends  ?” 

“ Upon  the  coasts,  Monsieur.” 

“ Which  are  the  best  coasts  ? ” 

“ Ah,  that  depends  upon  circumstances.  Around  the 
isles,  for  example.” 

“ Yes ; but  they  are  a long  way  off,  those  isles,  are 
they  not?” 

“ Not  very  ; four  leagues.” 

“Four  leagues  ! That  is  a voyage.” 

The  fishermen  laughed  out  in  M.  Agnan’s  face. 

“ Hear  me,  then,”  said  the  latter,  with  an  air  of  simple 
stupidity;  “four  leagues  off  you  lose  sight  of  land,  do 
you  not  ? ” 

“ Why,  not  always.” 

“ Ah  ! it  is  a long  way,  — too  long,  or  else  I would  have 
asked  you  to  take  me  aboard,  and  to  show  me  what  I 
have  never  seen.” 

“ What  is  that?” 

“ A live  sea-fish.” 

“ Monsieur  is  from  the  province  ? ” said  a fisherman. 
“Yes,  I come  from  Paris.” 

The  Breton' shrugged  his  shoulders;  then,  “Have  you 
ever  seen  M.  Fouquet  in  Paris?”  asked  he. 

“ Often,”  replied  D’Artagnan. 

“ Often  ! ” repeated  the  fishermen,  closing  their  circle 
round  the  Parisian.  “ Do  you  know  him  ? ” 


180 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ A little  ; he  is  the  intimate  friend  of  my  master.” 
u Ah  ! ” exclaimed  the  fishermen. 

“ And,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ I have  seen  his  chateaux  at 
St.  Mande  and  at  Vaux,  and  his  hotel  in  Paris.” 

“ Is  that  a fine  place  1 ” 

“ Superb.” 

“ It  is  not  so  fine  a place  as  Belle-Isle,”  said  a fisher- 
man. 

“ Bah ! ” replied  M.  Agnan,  breaking  into  a laugh  so 
disdainful  that  he  angered  all  his  auditors. 

“ It  is  very  plain  that  you  have  never  seen  Belle-Isle,” 
returned  the  most  curious  of  the  fishermen.  “ Do  you 
know  that  there  are  six  leagues  of  it,  and  that  there  are 
such  trees  on  it  as  cannot  be  equalled  even  at  Nantes- 
sur-le-Fosse  ? ” 

“ Trees  in  the  sea  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan.  “ Well,  I 
should  like  to  see  them.” 

“ That  can  be  easily  done.  We  are  fishing  at  the  Isle 
de  Hoedic,  — come  with  us.  From  that  place  you  will  see, 
as  a Paradise,  the  black  trees  of  Belle-Isle  against  the 
sky  ; you  will  see  the  white  line  of  the  castle,  which  cuts 
the  horizon  of  the  sea  like  a blade.” 

“ Oh,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ that  must  he  fine  ! But  do 
you  know  there  are  a hundred  belfries  at  M.  Fouquet’s 
chateau  at  Vaux  ? ” 

The  Breton  raised  his  head  in  profound  admiration, 
but  he  was  not  convinced.  “ A hundred  belfries  ! That 
may  be  ; but  Belle-Isle  is  finer  than  that.  Would  you 
like  to  see  Belle-Isle '?  ” 

“ Is  that  possible  1 ” asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ Yes,  with  the  permission  of  the  governor.” 

“ But  I do  not  know  the  governor.” 

“ As  you  know  M.  Fouquet,  you  can  tell  your  name.” 
“ Oh,  my  friends,  I am  not  a gentleman.” 


d’artagnan  continues  his  investigations.  181 


“ Everybody  enters  Belle-Isle,”  continued  the  fisher- 
man, in  his  strong,  pure  language,  “ provided  he  means 
no  harm  to  Belle-Isle  or  its  master.” 

A slight  shudder  passed  over  the  body  of  the  muske- 
teer. “ That  is  true,”  thought  he ; then  recovering  him- 
self, “ if  I were  sure,”  said  he,  “ not  to  be  sea-sick.” 

“ What ! upon  her?  ” said  the  fisherman,  pointing  with 
pride  to  his  pretty,  round-bottomed  boat. 

“ Well,  you  almost  persuade  me,”  cried  M.  Agnan  ; 
“ I will  go  and  see  Belle-Isle,  but  they  will  not  admit 
me.” 

“ We  shall  enter,  safe  enough.” 

“You!  What  for?” 

“Why,  dame!  to  sell  fish  to  the  corsairs.” 

“ Hey  ! corsairs  ! — what  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ I mean  that  M.  Fouquet  is  having  two  corsairs  built 
to  chase  the  Dutch  or  the  English,  and  we  sell  our  fish  to 
the  crews  of  those  little  vessels.” 

“ Come,  come  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  to  himself ; “ better 
and  better.  A printing-press,  bastions,  and  corsairs  ! 
Well,  M.  Fouquet  is  not  an  enemy  to  be  despised,  as  I 
had  presumed.  He  is  worth  the  trouble  of  travelling  to 
see  him  nearer.” 

“We  set  out  at  half- past  five,”  added  the  fisherman, 
gravely. 

“ I am  quite  ready,  and  I will  not  leave  you  now.” 
So  D’Artagnan  saw  the  fishermen  haul  their  boats  with  a 
windlass  to  meet  the  tide.  The  tide  came  in.  M.  Agnan 
managed  to  climb  on  board,  not  without  feigning  a little 
fear  and  awkwardness,  to  the  amusement  of  the  young 
sea-urchins  who  watched  him  with  their  large  intelligent 
eyes.  He  lay  down  upon  a folded  sail,  and  remained  en- 
tirely inactive,  while  the  boat  prepared  for  sea  ; within 
two  hours  it  was  ready  to  sail.  The  fishermen,  who  pros* 


182 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


ecuted  their  occupation  as  they  proceeded,  did  not  perceive 
that  their  passenger  had  not  become  pale,  had  neither 
groaned  nor  suffered  : that,  in  spite  of  the  horrible  tossing 
and  rolling  of  the  boat,  to  which  no  hand  imparted  direc- 
tion, the  novice  passenger  had  preserved  his  presence  of 
mind  and  his  appetite.  They  fished,  and  their  fishing  was 
sufficiently  fortunate.  To  lines  baited  with  prawns,  soles 
and  plaice  came,  with  numerous  gambols,  to  bite.  Two 
nets  had  already  been  broken  by  the  immense  weight  of 
congers  and  cod ; three  sea- eels  ploughed  the  hold  with 
their  slimy  folds  in  their  dying  contortions.  D’Artagnan 
brought  them  good  luck ; they  told  him  so.  The  soldier 
found  the  occupation  so  pleasant  that  he  put  his  hand  to 
the  work  — that  is  to  say,  to  the  lines  — and  uttered 
roars  of  joy,  and  mordioux  enough  to  have  astonished  his 
musketeers  themselves,  every  time  that  a shock  given  to 
his  line  by  a captured  prey  tugged  at  the  muscles  of 
his  arm,  and  required  the  employment  of  his  strength 
and  skill.  The  pleasure  party  had  made  him  forget  his 
diplomatic  mission.  He  was  struggling  with  a frightful 
conger,  and  holding  fast  with  one  hand  to  the  side  of  the 
vessel  in  order  to  seize  with  the  other  the  gaping  jowl  of 
his  antagonist,  when  the  skipper  said  to  him,  “ Take  care 
they  don’t  see  you  from  Belle-Isle  ! ” 

These  words  produced  the  same  effect  upon  DArtagnan 
as  the  hissing  of  the  first  bullets  on  a day  of  battle  : he 
let  go  of  both  line  and  conger,  which,  one  dragging  the 
other,  returned  again  to  the  water.  D’ Artagnan  perceived, 
within  half  a league  at  most,  the  blue  and  marked  profile 
of  the  rocks  of  Belle-Isle,  overtowered  by  the  white  and 
majestic  line  of  the  castle ; in  the  distance,  the  land  with 
its  forests  and  verdant  plains  ; in  the  pastures,  cattle. 
This  was  what  first  attracted  the  attention  of  the  mus- 
keteer. The  sun,  risen  half-way  to  the  meridian,  darted  its 


D’ARTAGNAN  CONTINUES  HIS  INVESTIGATIONS.  188 


rays  of  gold  upon  the  sea,  raising  a shining  mist  or  dust 
around  this  enchanted  isle.  Nothing  could  be  seen  of  it, 
owing  to  this  dazzling  light,  but  the  flattened  points ; 
every  shadow  was  strongly  marked,  and  striped  with  a 
band  of  darkness  the  luminous  sheet  of  the  fields  and  the 
walls.  “ Well ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  at  the  aspect  of  those 
masses  of  black  rocks,  “ these  are  fortifications,  it  seems 
to  me,  which  do  not  stand  in  need  of  any  engineer  to 
render  a landing  difficult.  Where  the  devil  could  a land- 
ing be  effected  on  that  isle  which  God  has  defended  so 
completely  1 ” 

“ This  way,”  replied  the  skipper  of  the  boat,  changing 
the  sail,  and  imparting  to  the  rudder  a twist  which  turned 
the  boat  in  the  direction  of  a pretty  little  harbor,  quite 
coquettish,  quite  round,  and  quite  newly  battlemented. 

“What  the  devil  do  I see  yonder?  ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“You  see  Locmaria,”  replied  the  fisherman. 

“ Well,  but  there?” 

“ That  is  Bangos.” 

“ And  farther  on  ? ” 

“Saujen,  and  then  the  palace.” 

“ Mordioux ! it  is  a world  ! Ah  ! there  are  some 
soldiers.” 

“ There  are  seventeen  hundred  men  in  Belle-Isle,  Mon- 
sieur,” replied  the  fisherman,  proudly.  “Do  you  know 
that  the  smallest  garrison  has  twenty  companies  of 
infantry  ? ” 

“ Mordioux  /”  cried  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  stamping 
with  his  foot;  “his  Majesty  was  right  enough.”  They 
landed. 


184 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER,  NO  DOUBT,  WILL  BE  AS  ASTON- 
ISHED AS  D’ARTAGNAN  WAS  TO  MEET  WITH  AN  OLD 
ACQUAINTANCE. 

There  is  always  in  a landing,  if  it  be  only  from  the 
smallest  sea-boat,  a bustle  and  a confusion  which  do  not 
leave  to  the  mind  the  liberty  which  it  needs  in  order  to 
study  at  the  first  glance  the  new  place  that  is  presented 
to  it.  The  movable  bridges,  the  excited  sailors,  the 
noise  of  the  water  upon  the  pebbles,  the  cries  and  the 
importunities  of  those  who  are  waiting  on  the  shore,  are 
the  multiple  details  of  that  sensation  which  is  summed 
up  in  one  single  word,  — hesitation. 

It  was  not,  then,  till  after  D’Artagnan  had  disembarked 
and  stood  several  minutes  on  the  shore  that  he  saw  at 
the  harbor,  but  more  particularly  in  the  interior  of  the  isle, 
an  immense  number  of  workmen  in  motion.  At  his  feet 
he  recognized  the  five  barges  laden  with  rough  stone  which 
he  had  seen  leave  the  port  of  Pirial.  The  stones  were 
transported  to  the  shore  by  means  of  a chain  formed  by 
twenty -five  or  thirty  peasants.  The  large  stones  were 
loaded  upon  carts  which  conveyed  them  in  the  same 
direction  as  the  shards,  — that  is  to  say,  towards  the  works, 
of  which  D’Artagnan  could  as  yet  appreciate  neither  the 
strength  nor  the  extent.  Everywhere  prevailed  an  ac- 
tivity equal  to  that  which  Telemachus  observed  on  his 
landing  at  Salentum. 

D’Artagnan  felt  a strong  inclination  to  penetrate  into 


MEETING  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 


185 


the  interior ; hut  he  could  not,  without  danger  of  exciting 
mistrust,  exhibit  too  much  curiosity.  He  advanced,  then, 
with  exceeding  caution,  scarcely  going  beyond  the  line 
formed  by  the  fishermen  on  the  beach,  observing  every- 
thing, saying  nothing,  and  meeting  all  suspicions  that 
might  have  been  excited  with  a half-silly  question  or  a 
polite  bow.  And  yet,  while  his  companions  carried  on 
their  trade,  giving  or  selling  their  fish  to  the  workmen  or 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town,  D’Artagnan  had  gained 
ground  by  degrees,  and,  reassured  by  the  little  attention 
paid  to  him,  began  to  cast  an  intelligent  and  confident 
look  upon  the  men  and  things  that  appeared  before  his 
eyes.  And  his  very  first  glance  fell  upon  earthworks  in 
which  the  eye  of  a soldier  could  not  be  mistaken.  In  the 
first  place,  at  the  two  extremities  of  the  port,  in  order 
to  cover  the  great  axis  of  the  ellipsis  formed  by  the  basin, 
two  batteries  had  been  raised,  evidently  destined  to  receive 
flank  pieces;  for  D’Artagnan  saw  the  workmen  finishing 
the  platforms  and  making  ready  the  half-circle  of  wood 
upon  which  the  wheels  of  the  pieces  might  turn  so  as  to 
command  every  direction  over  the  ramparts.  By  the  side 
of  each  of  these  batteries  other  workmen  were  strength- 
ening gabions  filled  with  earth,  the  lining  of  another  bat- 
tery. The  latter  had  embrasures,  and  a superintendent 
of  the  works  called  up  in  succession  the  men  who,  with 
cords,  tied  the  saucissons,  and  those  who  cut  the  lozenges 
and  right  angles  of  turf  destined  to  retain  the  matting 
of  the  embrasures.  By  the  activity  displayed  in  these 
works,  already  so  far  advanced,  they  might  be  consid- 
ered as  completed  ; they  were  not  yet  furnished  with  their 
cannon,  but  the  platforms  had  their  beds  and  their  planks 
all  prepared ; the  earth,  beaten  carefully,  had  consolidated 
them ; and,  supposing  the  artillery  to  be  on  the  island,  in 
less  than  two  or  three  days  the  port  might  be  completely 


186 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


armed.  What  astonished  D’Artagnan,  when  he  turned 
his  eyes  from  the  coast  batteries  to  the  fortifications  of 
the  town,  was  to  see  that  Belle-Isle  was  defended  by  an  en- 
tirely new  system,  of  which  he  had  often  heard  the  Comte 
de  la  Fere  speak  as  a great  advancement,  but  of  which  he 
had  never  yet  seen  the  application.  These  fortifications 
belonged  neither  to  the  Dutch  method  of  Marollais,  nor 
to  the  French  method  of  the  Chevalier  Antoine  de  Yille, 
but  to  the  system  of  Manesson  Mallet,  a skilful  engineer, 
who  about  six  or  eight  years  before  had  quitted  the  ser- 
vice of  Portugal  to  enter  that  of  France.  These  works 
had  the  peculiarity  that  instead  of  rising  above  the  earth, 
as  did  the  ancient  ramparts  destined  to  defend  a city 
from  escalades,  they,  on  the  contrary,  sank  into  it ; and 
the  depth  of  the  ditches  served  instead  of  the  height  of 
walls.  It  did  not  take  long  to  make  D’Artagnan  perceive 
the  superiority  of  such  a system,  which  gives  no  advan- 
tage to  cannon.  Besides,  as  the  ditches  were  lower  than 
the  sea,  or  on  a level  with  it,  they  might  be  inundated  by 
subterranean  sluices.  Otherwise,  the  works  were  almost 
complete  ; and  a group  of  workmen,  receiving  orders  from 
a man  who  appeared  to  be  the  superintendent  of  the 
works,  were  occupied  in  placing  the  last  stones.  A bridge 
of  planks,  thrown  over  the  ditch  for  greater  convenience 
in  using  the  barrows,  joined  the  interior  to  the  exterior. 
With  an  air  of  simple  curiosity,  D’Artagnan  asked  if  he 
might  be  permitted  to  cross  the  bridge,  and  he  was  told 
that  no  order  prevented  it.  Consequently  he  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  advanced  towards  the  group. 

This  group  was  superintended  by  the  man  whom  D’Ar- 
tagnan had  already  remarked,  and  who  appeared  to  be 
the  engineer-in-chief.  A plan  was  lying  open  before  him 
upon  a large  stone  forming  a table,  and  at  some  paces 
from  him  a crane  was  in  action.  This  engineer,  who  by 


MEETING  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 


187 


his  evident  importance  first  attracted  the  attention  of 
DArtagnan,  wore  a coat  which  from  its  sumptuousness 
was  scarcely  in  harmony  with  the  work  he  was  employed 
in,  which  would  rather  have  required  the  costume  of  a 
master  mason  than  of  a noble.  He  was,  furthermore,  a 
man  of  high  stature  and  large  square  shoulders,  and  he 
wore  a hat  covered  with  plumes.  He  gesticulated  in  the 
most  majestic  manner,  and  appeared  — for  only  his  back 
was  seen  — to  be  scolding  the  workmen  for  their  idleness 
and  want  of  strength. 

D’Artagnan  continued  to  draw  nearer.  At  that  mo- 
ment the  man  with  the  plumes  had  ceased  to  gesticulate, 
and,  with  his  hands  placed  upon  his  knees,  was  following, 
half  bent,  the  efforts  of  six  workmen  who  were  trying  to 
raise  a block  of  hewn  stone  to  the  top  of  a piece  of  timber 
destined  to  support  the  stone,  so  that  the  cord  of  the 
crane  might  be  passed  under  it.  The  six  men,  all  on  one 
side  of  the  stone,  united  their  efforts  to  raise  it  eight  or 
ten  inches  from  the  ground,  sweating  and  blowing ; while 
a seventh  got  ready,  as  soon  as  there  should  be  daylight 
enough  beneath  it,  to  slide  in  the  roller  that  was  to  sup- 
port it.  But  the  stone  had  already  twice  escaped  from 
their  hands  before  gaining  a sufficient  height  for  the  roller 
to  be  introduced.  It  may  well  be  believed  that  every 
time  the  stone  escaped  them,  they  bounded  quickly  back- 
wards, to  keep  their  feet  from  being  crushed  by  the  fall- 
ing stone.  Moreover,  each  time  that  the  stone  was  re- 
linquished by  them,  it  sank  deeper  and  deeper  into  the 
damp  earth,  which  rendered  the  operation  more  and 
more  difficult.  A third  effort  was  attended  by  no  bet- 
ter success,  but  with  increasing  discouragement.  And 
yet,  when  the  six  men  were  bent  over  the  stone,  the 
man  with  the  plumes  had  himself,  with  a powerful 
voice,  given  the  word  of  command,  “ Steady  ! ” which 


1 88 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


guides  all  manoeuvres  of  strength.  Then  he  drew 
himself  up. 

“ Come  now ! ” said  he,  “ what  is  all  this  about  1 
Have  I to  do  wTith  men  of  straw!  Corboeuf l stand  on 
one  side,  and  you  shall  see  how  this  is  to  be  done.” 

“ Peste  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ will  he  pretend  to  raise 
that  rock!  That  would  be  a sight  worth  looking  at.” 

The  workmen,  as  commanded  by  the  engineer,  drew 
back,  crestfallen  and  shaking  their  heads,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  one  who  held  the  joist,  who  prepared  to  per- 
form his  office.  The  man  with  the  plumes  went  up  to  the 
stone,  stooped,  slipped  his  hands  under  the  face  lying 
upon  the  ground,  stiffened  his  herculean  muscles,  and 
without  a jerk,  but  with  a slow  motion  like  that  of  a 
machine,  lifted  the- end  of  the  rock  a foot  from  the  ground. 
The  workman  who  held  the  joist  profited  by  the  space 
thus  given  him,  and  slipped  the  roller  under  the  stone. 

“ That  ’s  the  way,”  said  the  giant,  not  letting  the  rock 
fall  again,  but  placing  it  upon  its  support. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  “ I know  but  one  man 
capable  of  such  a feat  of  strength.” 

“ Hey  1 ” said  the  colossus,  turning  round. 
u Porthos  ! ” murmured  D’Artagnan,  seized  with  amaze- 
ment ; “ Porthos  at  Belle-Isle  ! ” 

On  his  part,  the  man  with  the  plumes  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  pretended  steward,  and,  in  spite  of  his  disguise, 
recognized  him.  (c  D’Artagnan  ! ” exclaimed  he  ; and  the 
color  mounted  to  his  face.  “ Hush ! ” said  he  to  D’Artagnan. 
“ Hush  ! ” in  his  turn  said  the  musketeer. 

In  fact,  if  Porthos  had  just  been  discovered  by  D’Ar- 
tagnan, D’Artagnan  had  just  been  discovered  by  Porthos. 
Their  share  in  each  other’s  particular  secret  struck  them 
both  at  the  same  time.  Nevertheless,  the  first  move  of 
the  two  men  was  to  throw  their  arms  round  each  other. 


MEETING  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE, 


189 


What  they  wished  to  conceal  from  the  bystanders  was 
not  their  friendship,  but  their  names.  But  after  the 
embrace  came  reflection. 

“ Why  the  devil  is  Porthos  at  Belle-Isle  lifting  stones  1 ” 
said  D’Artagnan ; only,  D’Artagnan  uttered  that  question 
to  himself  in  a low  voice. 

Less  strong  in  diplomacy  than  his  friend,  Porthos 
thought  aloud.  “ How  the  devil  did  you  come  to  Belle- 
Isle  % ” asked  he  of  D’Artagnan,  “ and  what  do  you  come 
to  do  here  h ” 

It  was  necessary  to  reply  without  hesitation.  To  hesi- 
tate in  his  answer  to  Porthos  would  have  been  a check 
for  which  the  self-love  of  D’Artagnan  could  never  have 
consoled  itself.  “ Pardieu  ! my  friend,  I am  at  Belle- 
Isle  because  you  are  here.” 

“ Oh,  bah ! ” said  Porthos,  visibly  astounded  by  the 
statement,  and  seeking  to  account  for  it  to  himself,  with 
that  clearness  of  deduction  which  we  know  to  be  charac- 
teristic of  him. 

“ Besides, ” continued  D’Artagnan,  unwilling  to  give  his 
friend  time  to  recollect  himself,  “ I have  been  to  see  you 
at  Pierrefonds.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  you  did  not  find  me  there  1 ” 

“No;  but  I found  Mouston.” 

“ Is  he  well  ? ” 

“ Peste  ! " 

“Well,  but  Mouston  did  not  tell  you  I was  here.” 

“ Why  should  he  not  ^ Have  I,  perchance,  deserved 
to  lose  his  confidence  1 ” 

“No  ; but  he  did  not  know  it.” 

“ Well,  that  is  a reason  at  least  not  offensive  to  nry 
self-love.” 


190 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ But  how  did  you  manage  to  find  me  ? ” 

“ My  dear  friend,  a great  noble,  like  you,  always  leaves 
traces  of  his  passage  ; and  I should  think  but  poorly  of 
myself  if  I were  not  sharp  enough  to  follow  the  traces  of 
my  friends.”  This  explanation,  flattering  as  it  was,  did 
not  entirely  satisfy  Porthos. 

“But  I left  no  traces  behind  me,  as  I came  here  dis- 
guised/, said  Porthos. 

“ Ah  ! You  came  disguised,  did  you  ] ” said  D’Artagnan. 
“ Yes.” 

“And  how  I ” 

“ As  a miller.” 

“ And  do  you  think  a great  noble  like  you,  Porthos, 
can  affect  common  manners  so  as  to  deceive  people  I ” 
“Well,  I swear  to  you,  my  friend,  that  I played  my 
part  so  well  that  everybody  was  deceived.” 

“ Indeed  ! so  well  that  I have  not  discovered  and  re- 
joined you  I ” 

“ Yes ; but  how  have  you  discovered  and  rejoined  me  1 ” 
“ Stop  a bit  ! I was  going  to  tell  you  how.  Do  you 
imagine  that  Houston  — ” 

“ Ah ! it  was  that  fellow,  Mouston,”  said  Porthos, 
gathering  together  those  two  triumphal  arches  which 
served  him  for  eyebrows. 

“ But,  stop,  I tell  you  ! It  was  no  fault  of  Mouston’s, 
because  he  was  ignorant  himself  of  where  you  were.” 

“ I know  he  was ; and  that  is  why  I am  in  such  haste 
to  understand  — ” 

“ Oh,  how  impatient  you  are,  Porthos  ! ” 

“When  I do  not  comprehend,  I am  terrible.” 

“ Well,  you  will  understand.  Aramis  wrote  to  you  at 
Pierrefonds,  did  he  not  1 ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  he  told  you  to  come  before  the  equinox.” 


MEETING  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 


191 


“ That  is  true.” 

“Well,  that  is  it/’  said  D’Artagnan,  hoping  that  this 
reason  would  satisfy  Porthos. 

Porthos  appeared  to  give  himself  up  to  violent  mental 
labor.  “ Yes,  yes,”  said  he,  “ I understand.  As  Aramis  told 
me  to  come  before  the  equinox,  you  have  understood  that 
that  was  to  join  him.  You  then  inquired  where  Aramis 
was,  saying  to  yourself,  ‘ Where  Aramis  is,  there  Porthos 
will  be.’  You  have  learned  that  Aramis  was  in  Bretagne, 
and  you  said  to  yourself,  ‘ Porthos  is  in  Bretagne/  ” 

“ Exactly ! In  truth,  Porthos,  I cannot  tell  why  you 
have  not  turned  soothsayer.  So  you  understand  that, 
arriving  at  La  Boche-Bernard,  I heard  of  the  splendid 
fortifications  going  on  at  Belle-Isle.  The  account  that 
they  gave  me  raised  my  curiosity.  I embarked  in  a fish- 
ing-boat, without  dreaming  that  you  were  here.  I came, 
and  I saw  a fine  fellow  lifting  a stone  which  Ajax  could 
not  have  stirred.  I cried  out,  ‘Nobody  but  the  Baron  de 
Bracieux  could  have  performed  such  a feat  of  strength/ 
You  heard  me,  you  turned  round,  you  recognized  me,  we 
embraced ; and,  faith  ! if  you  like,  my  dear  friend,  we  will 
embrace  again.” 

“ Ah  ! now  it  is  all  explained,”  said  Porthos ; and  he 
embraced  D’Artagnan  with  so  much  affection  as  to  de- 
prive the  musketeer  of  his  breath  for  five  minutes. 

“ Why,  you  are  stronger  than  ever,”  said  D’Artagnan, 
“and  still,  fortunately,  in  your  arms/’ 

Porthos  greeted  D’Artagnan  with  a gracious  smile. 
During  the  five  minutes  in  which  D’Artagnan  was  recov- 
ering his  breath,  he  reflected  that  he  had  a very  difficult 
part  to  play.  It  was  necessary  that  he  should  question 
without  ever  replying.  By  the  time  his  respiration  re- 
turned, his  plan  of  the  campaign  had  been  made. 


192 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WHEREIN  THE  IDEAS  OF  D’ARTAGNAN,  AT  FIRST  VERY  CON- 
FUSED, BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP  A LITTLE. 

D’Artagnan  immediately  took  the  offensive.  “ Now 
that  I have  told  you  all,  dear  friend,  or  rather  now  that 
you  have  guessed  all,  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  here, 
covered  with  dust  and  mud.” 

Porthos  wiped  his  brow,  and  looked  around  him  with 
pride.  “ Why,  I should  think,”  said  he,  “ that  you  might 
see  what  I am  doing  here.” 

“ No  doubt,  no  doubt;  you  lift  great  stones.” 

“ Oh,  to  show  these  idle  fellows  what  a man  is  ! ” said 
Porthos,  with  contempt.  “ But  you  understand  — ” 

“ Yes ; that  it  is  not  your  place  to  lift  stones,  although 
there  are  many,  whose  place  it  is,  who  cannot  lift  them  as 
you  do.  It  was  that  which  made  me  ask  you,  just  now, 
what  you  are  doing  here,  Baron.” 

“ I am  studying  topography,  Chevalier.” 

“ You  are  studying  topography  1 ” 

“ Yes ; but  you  — what  are  you  doing  in  that  common 
dress  ? ” 

D’Artagnan  perceived  he  had  committed  a fault  in  giv- 
ing expression  to  his  astonishment.  Porthos  had  taken 
advantage  of  it,  to  retort  with  a question.  Fortunately 
D’Artagnan  was  expecting  this  question.  “ Why,”  said 
he,  u you  know  I am  a bourgeois,  in  fact ; my  dress,  then, 
has  nothing  astonishing  in  it,  since  it  conforms  to  my 
condition.” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEAS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP.  193 


“ Nonsense!  you  are  a musketeer.” 

“You  are  wrong,  my  friend;  I have  given  in  my 
resignation.” 

“ Bah  ! ” 

“ Oh,  mon  Dieu  ! yes.” 

“ And  have  you  abandoned  the  service?” 

“ I have  quitted  it.” 

“ You  have  abandoned  the  king?  ” 

“ Quite.” 

Porthos  raised  his  arms  towards  heaven,  like  a man 
who  has  heard  extraordinary  news.  “ Well,  that  does 
confound  me,”  said  he. 

“ It  is  nevertheless  true.” 

“And  what  could  have  led  you  to  form  such  a 
resolution  ? ” 

“ The  king  displeased  me.  Mazarin  had  disgusted  me 
for  a long  time,  as  you  know ; so  I threw  my  uniform  to 
the  nettles.” 

“ But  Mazarin  is  dead.” 

“ I know  that  well  enough,  parbleu ! Only,  at  the 
period  of  his  death,  my  resignation  had  been  given  in 
and  accepted  two  months.  Then,  feeling  myself  free,  I 
set  off  for  Pierrefonds,  to  see  my  dear  Porthos.  I had 
heard  of  the  happy  division  you  had  made  of  your  time, 
and  I wished  for  a fortnight  to  divide  mine  after  your 
fashion.” 

“ My  friend,  you  know  that  it  is  not  for  a fortnight 
the  house  is  open  to  you  ; it  is  for  a year,  — for  ten  years, 
— for  life.” 

“ Thank  you,  Porthos.” 

“Ah!  you  don’t  want  any  money,  do  you?”  said 
Porthos,  making  something  like  fifty  louis  chink  in  his 
pocket.  “ In  that  case,  you  know  — ” 

“ No,  thank  you ; I am  not  in  want  of  anything.  I 
VOL.  II.  — 13 


194 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


placed  my  savings  with  Plan  diet,  who  pays  me  the  inter- 
est of  them.” 

“ Your  savings  1 ” 

“Yes,  to  be  sure,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “why  should  I 
not  put  by  savings,  as  well  as  another,  Porthos  ] ” 

“ Oh,  there  is  no  reason  why ; on  the  contrary,  I al 
ways  suspected  you  — that  is  to  say,  Aramis  always  sus- 
pected you  — to  have  savings.  For  my  own  part,  d’  ye 
see,  I take  no  concern  about  the  management  of  my 
household ; but  I presume  the  savings  of  a musketeer 
must  be  small.” 

“No  doubt,  relative  to  yourself,  Porthos,  who  are  a 
millionnaire  ; but  you  shall  judge.  I had  laid  by  twenty- 
five  thousand  livres.” 

“ That ’s  pretty  well,”  said  Porthos,  with  an  affable  air. 

“ And,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  “ on  the  28th  of 
last  month  I added  to  it  two  hundred  thousand  livres 
more.” 

Porthos  opened  his  great  eyes,  which  eloquently  de- 
manded of  the  musketeer,  “ Where  the  devil  did  you  steal 
such  a sum  as  that,  my  dear  friend  1 ” “ Two  hundred 

thousand  livres  ! ” cried  he,  at  length. 

“Yes;  which,  with  the  twenty-five  I had,  and  twenty 
thousand  I have  about  me,  complete  the  sum  of  two  hun- 
dred and  forty-five  thousand  livres.” 

“ But  tell  me,  whence  comes  this  fortune  ] ” 

“ I will  tell  you  all  about  it  presently,  dear  friend  ; 
but  as  you  have,  in  the  first  place,  many  things  to  tell 
me  yourself,  let  us  place  my  narration  in  its  proper 
rank.” 

“ Bravo ! ” said  Porthos ; “ then  we  are  both  rich. 
But  what  can  I have  to  tell  you  ? ” 

“ You  have  to  tell  me  how  Aramis  came  to  be 
named  — ” 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEAS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP.  195 


‘‘Ah  ! bishop  of  Vannes.” 

“ That  ’s  it/’  said  D’Artagnan,  “ bishop  of  Vannes. 
Dear  Aramis ! do  you  know  how  he  succeeded  so  well'?” 
“Yes,  yes;  without  considering  that  he  does  not  mean 
to  stop  there.” 

“ What  ! do  you  think  he  will  not  be  contented  with 
violet  stockings,  and  that  he  wants  a red  hat  ? ” 

“ Hush  ! that  is  promised  him.” 

“Bah  ! by  the  king?” 

“ By  somebody  more  powerful  than  the  king.” 

“ Oh,  the  devil  ! Porthos,  what  incredible  things  you 
tell  me,  my  friend  ! ” 

“ Why  incredible  ? Is  there  not  always  somebody  in 
Prance  more  powerful  than  the  king  ? ” 

“Oh,  yes!  in  the  time  of  King  Louis  XIII.  it  was  the 
Due  de  Richelieu ; in  the  time  of  the  regency  it  was 
Cardinal  Mazarin  ; in  the  time  of  Louis  XIV;  it  is  M.  — ” 
“ Go  on/ 

“ It  is  M.  Fouquet.” 

“ Jove!  you  have  hit  it  the  first  time.” 

“So  it  is  M.  Fouquet  who  has  promised  Aramis  the 
hat?” 

Porthos  assumed  an  air  of  reserve.  “Dear  friend,” 
said  he,  “ God  preserve  me  from  meddling  with  the  affairs 
of  others,  above  all  from  revealing  secrets  it  may  be  to 
their  interests  to  keep  ! When  you  see  Aramis,  he  will 
tell  you  what  he  thinks  he  ought  to  tell  you.” 

“ You  are  right,  Porthos ; and  you  are  quite  a padlock 
for  safety.  But  to  revert  to  yourself  ? ” 

“Yes,”  said  Porthos. 

“ You  said  just  now  that  you  came  hither  to  study 
topography  ? ” 

“ I did  so.” 

“ Tudieu  ! my  friend,  what  fine  things  you  will  do  ! ” 


196 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


66  How  do  you  mean  1 ” 

“ Why,  these  fortifications  are  admirable.” 

“ Is  that  your  opinion  1 ” 

“ Certainly.  In  truth,  to  anything  but  a regular  siege, 
Belle-Isle  is  impregnable.” 

Porthos  rubbed  his  hands.  “ That  is  my  opinion,”  said 
he. 

“ But  who  the  devil  has  fortified  this  paltry  little  place 
in  this  manner'?” 

Porthos  drew  himself  up  proudly  : “ Did  not  I tell  you 
who  1 ” 

“ No.” 

“ Do  you  not  suspect  1 ” 

“ No ; all  that  I can  say  is  that  he  is  a man  who  has 
studied  all  the  systems,  and  who  appears  to  me  to  have 
stopped  at  the  best.” 

“ Hush  ! ” said  Porthos ; “ consider  my  modesty,  my 
dear  d’Artagnan  ! ” 

“Really,”  replied  the  musketeer,  “can  it  be  you  — 
who  — oh  ! ” 

“ Pray,  my  dear  friend  — ” 

“ You  who  have  imagined,  traced,  and  contrived  these 
bastions,  these  redans,  these  curtains,  these  half-moons, 
and  are  preparing  that  covered  way  ” 

“ I beg  you  — ” 

“ You  who  have  built  that  lunette  with  its  retiring 
angles  and  its  salient  angles  1 ” 

“ My  friend  — ” 

“ You  who  have  given  that  inclination  to  the  openings 
of  your  embrasures,  by  means  of  which  you  so  effectively 
protect  the  men  who  serve  the  guns  ? ” 

“ Eh  ! mon  Dieu  ! yes.” 

“ Oh,  Porthos,  Porthos  ! I must  bow  down  before 
you,  I must  admire  you ! But  you  have  always  com 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEAS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP.  197 


cealed  from  us  this  superior  genius.  I hope,  my  dear 
friend,  you  will  show  me  all  this  in  detail  ? ” 

“Nothing  more  easy.  There  is  my  plan.” 

“ Show  it  me.” 

Porthos  led  D’Artagnan  towards  the  stone  which  served 
him  for  a table,  and  upon  which  the  plan  was  spread. 
At  the  foot  of  the  plan  was  written,  in  the  formidable 
writing  of  Porthos,  of  which  we  have  already  had  occasion 
to  speak  : — 

“ Instead  of  making  use  of  the  square  or  rectangle,  as  has 
been  done  up  to  this  time,  you  will  suppose  your  place  enclosed 
in  a regular  hexagon,  this  polygon  having  the  advantage  of 
offering  more  angles  than  the  quadrilateral.  Every  side  of 
your  hexagon,  of  which  you  will  determine  the  length  in  pro- 
portion to  the  dimensions  taken  upon  the  place,  will  be  divided 
into  two  parts,  and  upon  the  middle  point  you  will  draw  a per- 
pendicular towards  the  centre  of  the  polygon,  which  will  equal 
in  length  the  sixth  part  of  the  side.  At  the  extremities  of  each 
side  of  the  polygon,  you  will  trace  two  diagonals,  which  will 
cut  the  perpendicular.  These  two  straight  lines  will  form  the 
lines  of  defence.” 

“ The  devil ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  stopping  at  this  point 
of  the  demonstration  ; “ why,  this  is  a complete  system, 
Porthos.” 

“ Entirely,”  said  Porthos.  “ Do  you  wish  to  continue  ? ” 
“No,  I have  read  enough  of  it;  but  since  it  is  you, 
my  dear  Porthos,  who  direct  the  works,  what  need  have 
you  of  setting  down  your  system  so  formally  in  writing  1 ” 
“ Oh,  my  dear  friend,  death  ! ” 

“ How  ! death  1 ” 

“Why,  we  are  all  mortal.” 

“ That  is  true,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “ you  have  an  answer 
for  everything,  my  friend  ; 99  and  he  replaced  the  plan 
upon  the  stone. 


198 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


But  however  short  the  time  he  had  the  plan  in  his 
hands,  D’Artagnan  had  been  able  to  distinguish,  under  the 
enormous  writing  of  Porthos,  a much  more  delicate  hand, 
which  reminded  him  of  certain  letters  to  Marie  Michon, 
with  which  he  had  been  acquainted  in  his  youth.  Only, 
the  India-rubber  had  passed  and  repassed  over  this  writ- 
ing, so  that  it  might  have  escaped  a less  practised  eye 
than  that  of  our  musketeer. 

“Bravo  ! my  friend,  bravo  ! ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“ And  now  you  know  all  that  you  want  to  know,  do 
you  not  ? ” said  Porthos,  wheeling  about. 

“ Mon  Dieu , yes;  only  do  me  one  last  favor,  dear 
friend  ! ” 

“ Speak  ! I am  master  here.” 

“ Do  me  the  pleasure  to  tell  me  the  name  of  that  gen- 
tleman who  is  walking  yonder.” 

“ Where  1 there 
“ Behind  the  soldiers.” 

“ Followed  by  a lackey  1 ” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ In  company  with  a mean  sort  of  fellow  dressed  in 
black  1" 

“Yes;  I mean  him.” 

“ That  is  M.  Getard  ? ” 

“ And  who  is  Getard,  my  friend  ? ” 

“He  is  the  architect  of  the  house.” 

“ Of  what  house  ?” 

“ Of  M.  Fouquet’s  house.” 

“Ah  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan  ; “ you  are  of  the  household 
of  M.  Fouquet,  then,  Porthos  ? ” 

“ I ! what  do  you  mean  by  that  1 ” said  the  topographer, 
blushing  to  the  tips  of  his  ears. 

“ Why,  you  say  ‘ the  house,’  when  speaking  of  Belle-Isle, 
as  if  you  were  speaking  of  the  chateau  of  Pierrefonds.” 


p’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEAS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP.  199 


Porthos  bit  his  lips.  “ Belle-Isle,  my  friend,”  said  he, 
* belongs  to  M.  Fouquet,  does  it  not  ] ” 

“ Yes,  I believe  so.” 

“ As  Pierrefonds  belongs  to  me  % ” 

“ Certainly.” 

44  Yon  have  been  at  Pierrefonds 

44  I told  you  that  I was  there  not  two  months  ago.” 

“ Did  you  ever  see  a man  there  who  is  accustomed  to 
walk  about  with  a ruler  in  his  hand  ? ” 

“No;  but  I might  have  seen  him  there,  if  he  really 
walked  there.” 

“Well,  that  gentleman  is  M.  Boulingrin.” 

“ Who  is  M.  Boulingrin  *?  ” 

“ Now  we  come  to  it.  If,  when  this  gentleman  is  walk- 
ing with  a ruler  in  his  hand,  any  one  should  ask  me, 
4 Who  is  M.  Boulingrin  % ’ I should  reply : 4 He  is  the 
architect  of  the  house.’  Well ! M.  Getard  is  the  Boulin- 
grin  of  M.  Fouquet.  But  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
fortifications,  which  are  my  department  alone,  do  you 
understand  1 — absolutely  nothing.” 

“ Ah,  Porthos,”  exclaimed  D’Artagnan,  letting  his 
arms  fall  as  a conquered  man  gives  up  his  sword ; 44  ah, 
my  friend,  you  are  not  only  a herculean  topographer, 
you  are,  still  further,  a dialectician  of  the  first 
water.” 

“Was  it  not  powerfully  reasoned V1  said  Porthos ; and 
he  puffed  and  blew  like  the  conger  which  D’Artagnan  had 
let  slip  from  his  hand  that  morning. 

44  And  now,”  continued  D’Artagnan,  44  that  shabby- 
looking  man  who  accompanies  M.  Getard,  is  he  also  of 
the  household  of  M.  Fouquet1?” 

44 Oh,  yes,”  said  Porthos,  with  contempt;  44 it  is  one 
M.  Jupenet,  or  Juponet,  a sort  of  poet.” 

“ Who  has  come  to  establish  himself  here  ? ” 


200 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I believe  so.” 

“ I thought  M.  Fouquet  had  poets  enough,  yonder, — 
Scuderi,  Loret,  Pellisson,  La  Fontaine]  If  I must  tell 
'you  the  truth,  Porthos,  that  poet  disgraces  you.” 

“Eh  ! my  friend  ; but  what  saves  us  is  that  he  is  not 
here  as  a poet.” 

“ As  what,  then,  is  he  ] ” 

“ As  printer.  And  you  make  me  remember  that  I have 
a word  to  say  to  the  dirty  pedant.” 

“ Say  it,  then.” 

Porthos  made  a sign  to  Jupenet,  who  clearly  recognized 
D’Artagnan,  and  did  not  care  to  come  nearer,  — which 
naturally  produced  another  sign  from  Porthos.  This 
was  so  imperative  that  he  was  obliged  to  obey.  As 
he  approached,  “ Come  hither  ! ” said  Porthos.  “ You 
landed  only  yesterday,  and  you  have  begun  your  tricks 
already.” 

“How  so,  Monsieur  the  Baron?”  asked  Jupenet, 
trembling. 

“ Your  press  was  groaning  all  night,  Monsieur,”  said 
Porthos,  “and  you  prevented  my  sleeping,  corboeuf ! ” 
“Monsieur — ” objected  Jupenet,  timidly. 

“You  have  nothing  yet  to  print;  therefore  you  have 
no  occasion  to  set  your  press  going.  What  did  you  print 
last  night?  ” 

“ Monsieur,  a light  poem  of  my  own  composition.” 

“ Light ! Nonsense,  Monsieur;  the  press  groaned  piti 
fully  with  it.  Let  that  not  happen  again  ! ” 

“ No,  Monsieur.” 

“ You  promise  me  ? ” 

“ I do,  Monsieur.” 

“ Very  well ; this  time  I pardon  you.  Adieu  ! ” 

The  poet  withdrew  with  t !i o same  humility  he  had 
exhibited  on  coming  up. 


D’ARTAGNAN’S  IDEAS  BEGIN  TO  CLEAR  UP.  201 


“ Well,  now  we  have  combed  that  fellow’s  head,  let  ns 
breakfast.” 

“ Yes,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  “let  us  breakfast.” 
“Only,”  said  Porthos,  “I  beg  you  to  observe,  my 
friend,  that  we  have  only  two  hours  for  our  repast.” 

“ What  would  you  ha \e1  We  will  try  to  make  it  an» 
swer.  But  why  have  you  only  two  hours  'l  ” 

“ Because  it  is  high  tide  at  one  o’clock,  and  with  the 
tide  I am  going  to  start  for  Vannes.  But  as  I shall  re- 
turn to-morrow,  my  dear  friend,  you  can  stay  here.  You 
shall  be  master.  I have  a good  cook  and  a good 
cellar.” 

“ No,”  interrupted  D’Artagnan ; “ better  than  that  l ” 
“ What  1 ” 

“ You  are  going  to  Vannes,  you  say  1 ” 

“ To  a certainty.” 

“ To  see  Aramis  ] ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well,  I came  from  Paris  on  purpose  to  see  Aramis.” 

“ That ’s  true.” 

“ I will  go  with  you,  then.” 

“ Do  ; that ’s  the  thing.” 

“ Only,  I ought  to  have  seen  Aramis  first,  and  you 
after.  But  man  proposes,  and  God  disposes.  I have  be- 
gun with  you,  and  will  finish  with  Aramis.” 

“ Very  well.” 

“ And  in  how  many  hours  can  you  go  from  hence  to 
Vannes  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! pardieu  ! in  six  hours.  Three  hours  by  sea 
from  here  to  Sarzeau,  three  hours  by  road  from  Sarzeau 
to  Vannes.” 

“ How  convenient  that  is  ! Being  so  near  to  the  bish- 
opric, do  you  often  go  to  Vannes  1” 

“ Yes  ; once  a week.  But  stop  till  I get  my  plan.” 


202 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Porthos  picked  up  his  plan,  folded  it  carefully,  and 
engulfed  it  in  his  large  pocket. 

“ Good ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  aside  ; “ I think  I now 
know  the  true  engineer  who  is  fortifying  Belle-Isle.” 
Two  hours  after,  at  high  tide,  Porthos  and  D’Artagnan 
set  out  for  Sarzeau. 


A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 


203 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 

The  passage  from  Belle-Isle  to  Sarzeau  was  made  rapidly 
enough,  thanks  to  one  of  those  little  corsairs  of  which 
D’Artagnan  had  been  told  during  his  voyage,  and  which, 
shaped  for  fast  sailing  and  destined  for  the  chase,  were 
sheltered  at  that  time  in  the  road  of  Locmaria,  where  one 
of  them,  with  a quarter  of  its  war-crew,  did  service  be- 
tween Belle-Isle  and  the  Continent.  D’Artagnan  had  an 
opportunity  of  convincing  himself  once  more  that  Porthos, 
though  engineer  and  topographer,  was  not  deeply  versed 
in  affairs  of  State.  His  entire  ignorance,  with  any  other, 
might  have  passed  for  well-informed  dissimulation.  But 
D’Artagnan  knew  too  well  all  the  folds  and  the  refolds  of 
his  Porthos  not  to  find  a secret  if  there  were  one  there,  — 
like  those  regular,  minute  old  bachelors,  who  know  how 
to  find,  with  their  eyes  shut,  each  book  on  the  shelves  of 
their  library,  and  each  piece  of  linen  in  the  drawers  of 
their  commode.  Then,  if  he  had  found  nothing,  that  sly 
D’Artagnan,  in  rolling  and  unrolling  his  Porthos,  it  was 
because,  in  truth,  there  was  nothing  to  be  found. 

“ Be  it  so,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “ I shall  know  more  at 
Vannes  in  half  an  hour  than  Porthos  hasr  known  at  Belle- 
Isle  in  two  months.  Only,  in  order  that  I may  know 
something,  it  is  important  that  Porthos  does  not  make 
use  of  the  only  stratagem  I leave  at  his  disposal.  He  must 
not  warn  Aramis  of  my  arrival.” 

All  the  vigilance  of  the  musketeer  was  then,  for  the 
moment,  devoted  to  watching  Porthos.  And  let  us 


204 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


hasten  to  say,  Porthos  did  not  deserve  alljthis  mistrust. 
Porthos  had  no  thoughts  of  evil.  Perhaps,  on  first 
seeing  him,  D’Artagnan  had  inspired  him  with  a little 
suspicion  ; but  almost  immediately  D’Artagnan  had  re- 
conquered in  that  good  and  brave  heart  the  place  he 
had  always  occupied,  and  not  the  least  cloud  darkened 
the  great  eye  of  Porthos,  fixed  from  time  to  time  with 
fondness  on  his  friend. 

On  landing,  Porthos  inquired  if  his  horses  were  waiting, 
and  he  soon  perceived  them  at  the  crossing  of  the  road 
which  turns  round  Sarzeau,  and  which,  without  passing 
through  that  little  town,  leads  towards  Vannes.  These 
horses  were  two  in  number,  — one  for  M.  du  Vallon,  and 
one  for  his  equerry ; for  Porthos  had  an  equerry  since 
Mousqueton  could  use  only  a carriage  as  a means  of  loco- 
motion. D’Artagnan  expected  that  Porthos  would  pro- 
pose to  send  forward  his  equerry  upon  one  horse  to  bring 
back  another  horse,  and  he  (D’Artagnan)  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  oppose  this  proposition.  But  nothing  which 
D’Artagnan  had  expected  happened.  Porthos  simply 
ordered  the  servant  to  dismount  and  await  his  return  at 
Sarzeau,  while  D’Artagnan  would  ride  his  horse,  — which 
was  done. 

“ Eh ! but  you  are  quite  a man  of  foresight,  my  dear 
Porthos,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  his  friend,  when  he  found 
himself  in  the  saddle  upon  the  equerry’s  horse. 

“ Yes ; but  this  is  a kindness  on  the  part  of  Aramis. 
I have  not  my  stud  here,  and  Aramis  has  placed  his 
stables  at  my  disposal.” 

“ Good  horses  for  bishop’s  horses,  mordioux ! ” said 
D’Artagnan.  “It  is  true,  Aramis  is  a bishop  of  a peculiar 
kind.” 

“ He  is  a holy  man ! ” replied  Porthos,  in  a tone  almost 
nasal,  raising  his  eyes  towards  heaven. 


A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 


205 


“ Then  he  is  much  changed,”  said  D’Artagnan ; “for 
you  and  I have  known  him  tolerably  profane.” 

“ Grace  has  touched  him,”  said  Porthos. 

“ Bravo  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  ; “ that  redoubles  my  de- 
sire to  see  him,  this  precious  Aramis ! ” and  he  spurred 
his  horse,  which  sprang  off  with  renewed  speed. 

“ Peste!”  said  Porthos,  “if  we  go  on  at  this  rate,  we 
shall  take  only  one  hour  instead  of  two.” 

“To  go  how  far  do  you  say,  Porthos  ? ” 

“Four  leagues  and  a half.” 

“ That  will  be  a good  pace.” 

“ I .could  have  embarked  you  on  the  canal,  but  the 
devil  take  rowers  and  boat-horses  ! The  first  are  like  tor- 
toises, the  second  like  snails ; and  when  a man  is  able  to 
put  a good  horse  between  his  knees,  that  horse  is  worth 
more  than  rowers  or  any  other  means.” 

“ You  are  right,  — you,  above  all,  Porthos,  who  always 
look  magnificent  on  horseback.” 

“ A little  heavy,  my  friend  ; I was  weighed  the  other 
day.” 

“ And  what  do  you  weigh  i" 

“ Three  hundred- weight ! ” said  Porthos,  proudly. 
“Bravo!” 

“ So  that  you  must  perceive  that  I am  forced  to  choose 
horses  whose  loins  are  straight  and  wide ; otherwise  I 
break  them  down  in  two  hours.” 

“ Yes ; giant’s  horses  you  must  have,  must  you  not  1 ’ 

“ You  are  very  polite,  my  friend,”  replied  the  engineer, 
with  affectionate  majesty. 

“ As  a case  in  point,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  “your  horse 
seems  to  sweat  already.” 

“ Dame!  it  is  hot.  Ah  ! do  you  see  Vannes  now  ” 
“Yes,  perfectly.  It  is  a handsome  city,  apparently.” 

“ Charming,  — according  to  Aramis,  at  least ; it  is  too 


206 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


dark-colored  to  please  me.  But  black  seems  to  be  con- 
sidered handsome  by  artists;  I am  very  sorry  for  it.” 

“ Why  so,  Porthos  1 ” 

“ Because  I have  lately  had  my  chateau  of  Pierrefonds, 
which  was  gray  with  age,  plastered  white.” 

“ Humph  ! ” said  D’Artagnan ; “ but  white  is  more 
cheerful.” 

“Yes;  but  it  is  less  august,  as  Aramis  tells  me.  For- 
tunately there  are  dealers  in  black  as  well  as  white.  I 
will  have  Pierrefonds  replastered  in  black,  that  is  all.  If 
gray  is  handsome,  you  understand,  my  friend,  black  must 
be  superb.” 

“ Dame!  ” said  D’Artagnan,  “ that  appears  logical.” 
“Were  you  never  at  Vannes,  D’Artagnan ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ Then  you  do  not  know  the  city  ? ” 

“ No.” 

“Well,  look!”  said  Porthos,  raising  himself  in  his 
stirrups,  which  made  the  fore-quarters  of  his  horse  bend 
sadly;  “do  you  see  that  spire  in  the  sunlight  yonder  1 ” 
“Yes,  I see  it  plainly.” 

“That  is  the  cathedral.” 

“ Which  is  called  — ” 

“ St.  Pierre.  Now  look  again  ! In  the  faubourg  on 
the  left  do  you  see  another  cross  'l  ” 

“ Perfectly  well.” 

“ That  is  St.  Paterae,  the  parish  preferred  by  Aramis.” 
“ Indeed  ! ” 

“ Without  doubt.  Saint  Paterae,  you  see,  passes  for 
having  been  the  first  bishop  of  Vannes.  It  is  true  that 
Aramis  pretends  that  he  was  not ; but  he  is  so  learned 
that  that  may  be  only  a paro  — a para  — ” 

“ Paradox,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“Precisely  ; thank  you  ! My  tongue  trips,  it  is  so  hot.” 


A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 


207 


“ My  friend/’  said  D’Artagnan,  “ continue  your  inter- 
esting description,  I beg.  What  is  that  large  white  build- 
ing with  many  windows  1” 

“ Oh  ! that  is  the  college  of  the  Jesuits.  Pardieu  ! you 
have  a lucky  hand.  Do  you  see,  close  to  the  college,  a large 
house  with  steeples  and  turrets,  and  built  in  a handsome 
Gothic  style,  as  that  brute,  M.  Getard,  says  1 ” 

“Yes,  I see.  Well  V1 
“ Well,  that  is  where  Aramis  resides.” 

“ What ! does  he  not  reside  at  the  episcopal  palace  ? ” 

“ No  ; that  is  in  ruins.  The  palace,  likewise,  is  in  the 
city,  and  Aramis  prefers  the  faubourg.  That  is  why,  as 
I told  you,  he  is  partial  to  St.  Paterne ; St.  Paterne  is  in 
the  faubourg.  Besides,  there  are  in  this  faubourg  a mall, 
a tennis-court,  and  a house  of  Dominicans,  — see  ! the  one 
whose  handsome  steeple  rises  to  the  heavens.” 

“Well?” 

“ Next,  you  see,  the  faubourg  is  like  a separate  city ; it 
has  its  walls,  its  towers,  its  ditches  ; the  quay  is  upon  it, 
likewise,  and  the  boats  land  at  the  quay.  If  our  little 
corsair  did  not  draw  eight  feet  of  water,  we  could  have 
come  full  sail  up  to  Aramis’s  windows.” 

“ Porthos,  Porthos,”  cried  D’Artagnan,  “you  are  a well 
of  knowledge,  a spring  of  ingenious  and  profound  reflec- 
tions. Porthos,  you  no  longer  surprise  me  ; you  confound 
me.” 

“ Here  we  are,  arrived/’  said  Porthos,  turning  the  con- 
versation with  his  usual  modesty. 

“ And  high  time  we  were,”  thought  D’Artagnan,  “ for 
Aramis’s  horse  is  melting  away  like  a horse  of  ice.” 

They  entered  almost  at  the  same  instant  into  the  fau- 
bourg ; but  scarcely  had  they  gone  a hundred  paces  when 
they  were  surprised  to  find  the  streets  strewed  with  leaves 
and  flowers.  Against  the  old  walls  of  Vannes  were  hung 


208 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  oldest  and  the  strangest  tapestries  of  France.  Over- 
iron  balconies  fell  long  white  sheets  stuck  all  over  with 
bouquets.  The  streets  were  deserted ; it  was  plain  that 
the  whole  population  wras  assembled  at  one  point.  The 
blinds  were  closed,  and  the  breeze  penetrated  into  the 
houses  under  the  hangings,  which  cast  long  black  shadows 
between  their  places  of  issue  and  the  walls.  Suddenly, 
at  the  turning  of  a street,  chants  struck  the  ears  of  the 
newly  arrived  travellers.  A crowd  in  holiday  garb  ap- 
peared through  the  vapors  of  incense  which  mounted  to 
the  heavens  in  blue  flakes,  and  clouds  of  rose-leaves  flew 
up  as  high  as  the  first  stories.  Above  all  heads  were  to 
be  seen  the  cross  and  banners,  the  sacred  symbols  of  reli- 
gion. Then,  beneath  those  crosses  and  banners,  as  if 
protected  by  them,  was  a whole  world  of  young  girls, 
clothed  in  white,  and  crowned  with  corn-flowers.  At  the 
two  sides  of  the  street,  enclosing  the  cortege , marched  the 
guards  of  the  garrison,  carrying  bouquets  in  the  barrels 
of  their  muskets  and  on  the  points  of  their  lances.  This 
was  a procession. 

While  D’Artagnan  and  Porthos  were  looking  on  with 
becoming  pious  ardor,  which  disguised  an  extreme  im- 
patience to  push  forward,  a magnificent  dais  approached, 
preceded  by  a hundred  Jesuits  and  a hundred  Domini- 
cans, and  escorted  by  two  archdeacons,  a treasurer,  a 
penitentiary,  and  twelve  canons.  A chanter  with  a 
thundering  voice  — a chanter  certainly  picked  out  from 
all  the  voices  of  France,  as  was  the  drum-major  of  the 
Imperial  Guard  from  all  the  giants  of  the  empire  — a 
chanter  escorted  by  four  other  chanters,  who  appeared  to 
be  there  only  to  serve  him  as  an  accompaniment  — made 
the  air  resound,  and  the  windows  of  all  the  houses  vi- 
brate. Under  the  dais  appeared  a pale  and  noble  coun- 
tenance, with  black  eyes,  black  hair  streaked  with  threads 


A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 


209 


of  silver,  a delicate,  compressed  mouth,  a prominent  and 
angular  chin.  This  head,  full  of  graceful  majesty,  was 
covered  with  the  episcopal  mitre,  — a head-dress  which 
gave  it,  in  addition  to  the  character  of  sovereignty,  that 
of  asceticism  and  evangelic  meditation. 

“ Aramis  ! ” cried  the  musketeer,  involuntarily,  as  this 
lofty  countenance  passed  before  him. 

The  prelate  started  at  the  sound  of  the  voice.  He 
raised  his  large  black  eyes  with  their  long  lashes,  and 
turned  them  without  hesitation  towards  the  spot  whence 
the  exclamation  proceeded.  At  a glance  he  saw  Porthos 
and  D’Artagnan  close  to  him.  On  his  part,  D’Artagnan, 
thanks  to  the  keenness  of  his  sight,  had  seen  all,  grasped 
all.  The  full  portrait  of  the  prelate  had  entered  his 
memory,  never  to  leave  it.  One  thing  had  particularly 
struck  D’Artagnan.  On  perceiving  him,  Aramis  had  col 
ored ; then  he  had  concentrated  under  his  eyelids  the 
fiery  look  of  the  master,  and  the  affectionate  look  of  the 
friend.  It  was  evident  that  Aramis  addressed  this  question 
to  himself : “ Why  is  DArtagnan  there  with  Porthos,  and 
what  does  he  want  at  Valines'?”  Aramis  comprehended 
all  that  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  D’Artagnan,  on  turn- 
ing his  look  upon  him  again,  and  seeing  that  he  had  not 
lowered  his  eyes.  He  knew  the  acuteness  and  intelli- 
gence of  his  friend  ; he  feared  to  let  him  divine  the  secret 
of  his  blush  and  his  astonishment.  He  was  still  the  same 
Aramis,  always  having  a secret  to  conceal.  Therefore,  to 
put  an  end  to  this  searching  examination,  which  it  was 
necessary  to  get  rid  of  at  all  events,  as  at  any  price  a 
general  silences  the  fire  of  a battery  which  annoys  him. 
Aramis  stretched  forth  his  beautiful  white  hand,  upon 
which  sparkled  the  amethyst  of  the  pastoral  ring  ; he  cut 
the  air  with  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  poured  out  his  ben- 
ediction upon  his  two  friends.  Perhaps,  thoughtful  and 
VOL.  II.  — 14 


210 


THE  VICOMTE  1>E  BRAGELONNE. 


absent,  D’Artagnan,  impious  in  spite  of  himself,  might 
not  have  bent  beneath  this  holy  benediction  ; but  Porthos 
saw  his  distraction,  and  laying  his  friendly  hand  upon 
the  back  of  his  companion,  crushed  him  down  towards 
the  earth.  D’Artagnan  was  forced  to  give  way  ; indeed, 
he  was  little  short  of  being  flat  on  the  ground.  In  the 
mean  time  Aramis  had  passed.  D’Artagnan,  like  An- 
taeus, had  only  touched  the  ground,  and  he  turned 
towards  Porthos,  quite  ready  to  quarrel  with  him.  But 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  intention  of  the  brave  Hercu- 
les ; it  was  a feeling  of  religious  propriety  that  had  influ- 
enced him.  Besides,  speech  with  Porthos,  instead  of 
disguising  his  thought,  always  revealed  it. 

“ It  is  very  polite  of  him,”  said  he,  “ to  have  given  his 
benediction  to  us  alone.  Decidedly,  he  is  a holy  man 
and  a brave  man.” 

Less  convinced  than  Porthos,  D’Artagnan  made  no 
reply. 

“Observe,  my  friend,”  continued  Porthos,  “he  has 
seen  us;  and  instead  of  continuing  to  walk  on  at  the 
simple  pace  of  the  procession,  as  he  did  just  now,  — see 
what  a hurry  he  is  in  ! Do  you  see  how  the  cortege  is  in- 
creasing its  speed  % He  is  eager  to  come  to  us  and  to 
embrace  us,  is  that  dear  Aramis!  ” 

“ That  is  true,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  aloud.  Then  to 
himself  : “ It  is  equally  true  that  he  has  seen  me,  the  fox, 
and  will  have  time  to  prepare  himself  to  receive  me.” 

But  the  procession  had  passed ; the  road  was  free, 
D’Artagnan  and  Porthos  walked  straight  up  to  the  epis 
copal  palace,  which  was  surrounded  by  a numerous  crowd, 
anxious  to  see  the  prelate  return.  D’Artagnan  noticed 
that  this  crowd  was  composed  principally  of  citizens  and 
military  men.  He  recognized  in  the  character  of  these 
partisans  his  friend’s  address.  Aramis  was  not  the  man 


A PROCESSION  AT  VANNES. 


211 


to  seek  for  a useless  popularity.  He  cared  very  little  for 
being  beloved  by  people  who  could  be  of  no  service  to 
him.  The  train  of  ordinary  pastors  — that  is  to  say, 
women,  children,  and  old  men  — was  not  the  train  for 
him. 

Ten  minutes  after  the  two  friends  had  passed  the 
threshold  of  the  palace,  Aramis  returned  like  a trium- 
phant conqueror ; the  soldiers  presented  arms  to  him  as 
to  a superior  officer ; the  citizens  bowed  to  him  as  to  a 
friend  and  patron,  rather  than  as  a head  of  the  Church. 
There  was  something  in  Aramis  resembling  those  Roman 
senators  who  had  their  doors  always  surrounded  by 
clients.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps  he  had  a conference  of 
half  a minute  with  a Jesuit,  who  in  order  to  speak  to 
him  more  secretly  passed  his  head  under  the  dais.  He 
then  entered  his  palace ; the  doors  closed  slowly,  and  the 
crowd  melted  away,  while  chants  and  prayers  were  still 
resounding  abroad.  It  was  a magnificent  day.  Earthly 
perfumes  were  mingled  with  the  perfumes  of  the  air  and 
the  sea.  The  city  breathed  happiness,  joy,  and  strength. 
D’Artagnan  felt  something  like  the  presence  of  an  invis- 
ible hand  which  had,  all-powerfully,  created  this  strength, 
this  joy,  this  happiness,  and  spread  everywhere  these 
perfumes. 

“ Oh  ! ” said  he  to  himself,  “ Porthos  has  got  fat,  but 
Aramis  has  grown  taller.” 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


2 1 2 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES. 

Porthos  and  D’Artagnan  had  entered  the  bishop’s  resi- 
dence by  a private  door,  as  his  personal  friends.  Of 
course,  Porthos  served  D’Artagnan  as  guide.  The  worthy 
baron  comported  himself  everywhere  rather  as  if  he  were 
at  home.  Nevertheless,  whether  it  was  a tacit  acknowl- 
edgment of  the  sanctity  of  the  personage  of  Aramis  and 
his  character,  or  the  habit  of  respecting  him  who  exer- 
cised a moral  influence  over  him,  — a worthy  habit  which 
had  always  made  Porthos  a model  soldier  and  an  excel- 
lent companion,  — ■ for  these  reasons,  say  we,  Porthos  pre- 
served in  the  palace  of  his  Greatness  the  Bishop  of  Vannes 
a sort  of  reserve  which  D’Artagnan  remarked  at  once  in 
the  attitude  he  took  with  respect  to  the  valets  and  the 
officers.  And  yet  this  reserve  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  pre- 
vent his  asking  questions.  Porthos  questioned.  They 
learned  that  his  Greatness  had  just  returned  to  his  apart- 
ments, and  was  preparing  to  appear,  in  familiar  intimacy, 
less  majestic  than  he  had  appeared  with  his  flock. 

After  a quarter  of  an  hour,  which  D’Artagnan  and  Por- 
thos passed  in  looking  at  the  whites  of  each  other’s  eyes, 
and  twirling  their  thumbs  in  all  possible  different  evolu- 
tions, a door  of  the  hall  opened,  and  his  Greatness  ap- 
peared, dressed  in  the  undress  complete  of  a prelate. 
Aramis  carried  his  head  high,  like  a man  accustomed  to 
command;  his  violet  robe  was  tucked  up  on  one  side, 
and  his  hand  was  on  his  hip.  He  had  retained  the  fine 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  213 

mustache  and  the  lengthened  imperial  of  the  time  of 
Louis  XIII.  He  exhaled,  on  entering,  that  delicate  per. 
fume  which  among  elegant  men  and  women  of  high 
fashion  never  changes,  and  appears  to  be  incorporated 
in  the  person,  of  whom  it  has  become  the  natural  em 
anation.  Only,  in  this  case  the  perfume  had  retained 
something  of  the  religious  sublimity  of  incense.  It  no 
longer  intoxicated,  it  penetrated  ; it  no  longer  inspired 
desire,  it  inspired  respect.  Aramis,  on  entering  the  room, 
did  not  hesitate  an  instant ; and  without  pronouncing- 
one  word,  which  whatever  it  might  be  would  have  been 
cold  on  such  an  occasion,  he  went  straight  up  to  the  mus- 
keteer, so  well  disguised  under  the  costume  of  M.  Agnan, 
and  pressed  him  in  his  arms  with  a tenderness  which  the 
most  mistrustful  could  not  have  suspected  of  coldness  or 
affectation. 

D’Artagnan,  on  his  part,  embraced  him  with  equal 
warmth.  Porthos  grasped  the  delicate  hand  of  Aramis 
in  his  immense  hands,  and  D’Artagnan  noticed  that  his 
Greatness  gave  him  his  left  hand,  probably  from  habit, 
seeing  that  Porthos  already  a dozen  times  had  injured 
his  fingers,  covered  with  rings,  by  bruising  his  flesh 
in  the  vice  of  his  fist.  Warned  by  the  pain,  Aramis 
was  cautious,  and  presented  only  flesh  to  be  bruised,  and 
not  fingers  to  be  crushed  against  gold  or  the  facets  of 
diamonds. 

Between  two  embraces,  Aramis  looked  D’Artagnan  in 
the  face,  offered  him  a chair,  sitting  down  himself  in  the 
shade,  observing  that  the  light  fell  full  upon  the  face  of 
his  interlocutor.  The  manoeuvre,  familiar  to  diplomatists 
and  women,  resembles  much  the  advantage  of  the  guard 
which,  according  to  their  skill  or  habit,  combatants  en- 
deavor to  take  on  the  ground  at  a duel.  D’Artagnan 
was  not  the  dupe  of  this  manoeuvre  \ but  he  did  not 


214 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


appear  to  perceive  it.  He  felt  himself  caught ; but  pre- 
cisely because  he  was  caught,  he  felt  himself  on  the  road 
to  discovery,  and  it  was  of  little  moment  to  him,  old  con - 
dottiere  as  he  was,  to  be  beaten  in  appearance,  provided 
he  drew  from  his  pretended  defeat  the  advantages  of  vic- 
tory. It  was  Aramis  who  began  the  conversation. 

“ Ah,  dear  friend  ! my  good  D’Artagnan,”  said  he, 
“ what  a fortunate  chance  ! ” 

“It  is  a chance,  my  reverend  companion,”  said  D’Ar- 
tagnan, “that  I will  call  friendship.  I seek  you,  as  I 
always  have  sought  you,  when  I had  any  grand  enter- 
prise to  propose  to  you,  or  some  hours  of  liberty  to  give 
you.” 

“Ah!  indeed,”  said  Aramis,  with  no  outburst,  “you 
have  been  seeking  me  % ” 

“ Eh  ! yes,  he  has  been  seeking  you,  Aramis,”  said  Por- 
thos ; “ and  the  proof  is  that  he  has  hunted  me  up  at 
Belle-Isle.  That  is  kind,  is  it  not'?  ” 

“ Ah  ! yes,”  said  Aramis,  “ at  Belle-Isle  ! certainly.” 

“ Good  ! ” thought  D’Artagnan  ; “ my  booby  Porthos, 
without  thinking  of  it,  has  fired  the  first  cannon  of  attack.” 

“ At  Belle-Isle  !”  said  Aramis,  “in  that  hole,  in  that 
desert ! That  is  kind  indeed  ! ” 

“And  it  was  I who  told  him  you  were  at  Vannes,”  con- 
tinued Porthos,  in  the  same  tone. 

DArtagnan  set  his  lips  with  a subtilty  almost  ironical. 
“ Yes,  I knew,  but  I wished  to  see,”  replied  he. 

“ To  see  what  t ” 

“ If  our  old  friendship  still  held  out ; if  on  seeing  each 
other  our  hearts,  hardened  as  they  are  by  age,  would 
still  let  the  old  cry  of  joy  escape,  which  welcomes  the 
coming  of  a friend.” 

“ Well,  and  you  must  have  been  satisfied,”  said  Aramis. 

“ So,  so.” 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  215 


“ How  is  that  ?” 

“ Yes  ; Porthos  said,  ‘ Hush  ! ’ and  you  — ” 

“ Well ! and  I?” 

“ And  you  gave  me  your  benediction.’’ 

“ What  would  you  have,  my  friend?”  said  Aramis, 
smiling ; u that  is  the  most  precious  thing  that  a poor 
prelate,  like  me,  has  to  give.” 

“ Indeed,  my  dear  friend  ! ” 

“ Most  certainly.” 

“ And  yet  they  say  at  Paris  that  the  bishopric  of 
Vannes  is  one  of  the  best  in  France.” 

“ Ah  ! you  are  now  speaking  of  temporal  wealth,”  said 
Aramis,  with  a careless  air. 

“ To  be  sure,  I wish  to  speak  of  that  ; 1 hold  by  it,  on 
my  part.” 

“ In  that  case,  let  me  speak  of  it,”  said  Aramis,  with  a 
smile. 

“You  own  yourself  to  be  one  of  the  richest  prelates  in 
France'?  ” 

“ My  friend,  since  you  ask  me  to  give  you  an  account, 
I will  tell  you  that  the  bishopric  of  Vannes  is  worth 
about  twenty  thousand  livres  a year,  neither  more  nor 
less.  It  is  a diocese  which  contains  a hundred  and  sixty 
parishes.” 

“ That  is  very  pretty,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ It  is  superb  ! ” said  Porthos. 

“ And  yet,”  resumed  D’Artagnan,  throwing  his  eye 
over  Aramis,  “you  have  not  buried  yourself  here  forever?  ” 
“ Pardon  me.  Only,  I do  not  admit  the  word  ‘ buried.’  ” 
“ P>ut  it  seems  to  me  that  at  this  distance  from  Paris 
a man  is  buried,  or  nearly  so.” 

“My  friend,  I am  getting  old,”  said  Aramis;  “the 
noise  and  bustle  of  a city  no  longer  suit  me.  At  fifty- 
seven  we  ought  to  seek  calm  and  meditation.  I have 


216 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


found  them  here.  What  is  there  more  beautiful  and 
stern  at  the  same  time,  than  this  old  Armorica?  I find 
here,  dear  D’Artagnan,  all  that  is  unlike  what  I for- 
merly loved ; and  that  is  what  must  happen  at  the  end 
of  life,  which  is  unlike  the  beginning.  A little  of  my  old 
pleasure  of  former  times  still  comes  to  greet  me  here, 
now  and  then,  without  diverting  me  from  the  way  of 
salvation.  I am  still  of  this  world,  and  yet  every  step 
that  I take  brings  me  nearer  to  God.” 

“ Eloquent,  wise,  and  discreet ; you  are  an  accomplished 
prelate,  Aram  is,  and  I offer  you  my  congratulations.” 

“ But,”  said  Aramis,  smiling,  “you  did  not  come  here 
only  for  the  purpose  of  paying  me  compliments.  Speak  ! 
What  brings  you  hither?  May  it  be  that,  in  some  fashion 
or  other,  you  want  me  ? 99 

“ Thank  God,  no,  my  friend,”  said  D’Artagnan ; “ it  is 
nothing  of  that  kind,  — I am  rich  and  free.” 

“ Rich  ! ” exclaimed  Aramis. 

“ Yes,  rich  for  me  ; not  for  you,  nor  Porthos,  under- 
stand. I have  an  income  of  about  fifteen  thousand  livres.” 
Aramis  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve— particularly  on  seeing  his  old  friend  in  such  hum- 
ble guise  — that  he  had  made  so  fine  a fortune.  Then 
D’Artagnan,  seeing  that  the  hour  for  explanations  had 
come,  related  the  story  of  his  English  adventures.  Dur- 
ing the  narration  he  saw,  a dozen  times,  the  eyes  of  the 
prelate  sparkle,  and  his  slender  fingers  work  convulsively. 
As  to  Porthos,  it  was  not  admiration  he  manifested  for 
D’Artagnan,  it  was  enthusiasm,  it  was  delirium. 

When  D’Artagnan  had  finished,  “ Well  ! ” said  Aramis. 
“Well!”  said  D’Artagnan,  “you  see  that  I have  in 
England  friends  and  property,  in  France  a treasure.  If 
your  heart  approves,  I offer  them  to  you.  That  is  what 
I came  here  for.” 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  217 


However  firm  his  look,  he  could  not  this  time  support 
that  of  Aramis.  He  therefore  allowed  his  eye  to  stray 
towards  Porthos,  — like  the  sword  which  yields  to  too 
powerful  a pressure  and  seeks  another  passage. 

“ At  all  events,”  said  the  bishop,  “you  have  assumed 
a singular  travelling  costume,  old  friend.” 

“ Frightful ! I know  it  is.  You  may  understand  why 
I would  not  travel  as  a cavalier  or  a noble ; since  I be- 
came rich  I am  miserly.” 

“ And  you  say,  then,  you  came  to  Belle-Isle  ? ” said 
Aramis,  without  transition. 

“Yes,”  replied  D’Artagnan ; “I  knew  I should  find 
you  and  Porthos  there.” 

“ Find  me  ! ” cried  Aramis.  “ Me  ! During  the  year 
that  1 have  been  here  I have  not  once  crossed  the  sea.” 

“ Oh,”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ I did  not  know  you  were  so 
domestic.” 

“ Ah,  dear  friend,  I must  tell  you  that  I am  no  longer 
the  man  of  former  times.  Riding  on  horseback  is  un- 
pleasant to  me ; the  sea  fatigues  me.  I am  a poor  ailing 
priest,  always  complaining,  always  grumbling,  and  in- 
clined to  the  austerities  which  appear  to  accord  with  old 
age,  — parleys  with  death.  I abide,  my  dear  D’Artagnan, 
I abide.’7 

“ Well,  that  is  all  the  better,  my  friend  ; for  we  shall 
probably  become  neighbors.” 

“ Bah  ! ” said  Aramis,  with  a degree  of  surprise  he  did 
not  even  seek  to  dissemble.  “ You,  my  neighbor  ! ” 

“ Mordioux  ! yes.” 

“ How  so?” 

“ I am  about  to  purchase  some  very  profitable  salt- 
mines, which  are  situated  between  Pirial  and  Le  Croisic. 
Imagine,  my  friend,  working  at  a clear  profit  of  twelve  per 
cent ! Never  any  deficiency,  never  any  idle  expenses  ; 


218 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


the  ocean,  faithful  and  regular,  bringing  every  six  hours 
its  contingency  to  my  coffers.  I am  the  first  Parisian 
who  has  dreamed  of  such  a speculation.  Do  not  divulge 
the  matter,  I beg  of  you,  and  in  a short  time  we  will 
communicate  on  the  subject.  1 am  to  have  three  leagues 
of  territory  for  thirty  thousand  livres.” 

Aramis  darted  a look  at  Porthos,  as  if  to  ask  if  all  this 
were  indeed  true,  if  some  snare  were  not  concealed  be- 
neath this  outward  indifference.  But  soon,  as  if  ashamed 
of  having  consulted  this  poor  auxiliary,  he  collected  all 
his  forces  for  a fresh  assault  and  a fresh  defence.  “ I 
heard  that  you  had  had  some  difference  with  the  Court,” 
said  he,  “ but  that  you  had  come  out  of  it,  as  you  know 
how  to  come  out  of  everything,  D’Artagnan,  with  the 
honors  of  war.” 

“ I ! ” exclaimed  the  musketeer,  with  a great  burst  of 
laughter  that  could  not  conceal  his  embarrassment ; for 
from  these  words,  Aramis  was  not  unlikely  to  be  ac- 
quainted with  his  last  relations  with  the  king.  — “ I ! oh, 
tell  me  all  about  that,  pray,  my  dear  Aramis  V9 

“ Yes ; it  was  related  to  me,  a poor  bishop  lost  in  the 
middle  of  the  moors,  that  the  king  had  taken  you  as  the 
confidant  of  his  amours.” 

“ With  whom  cl  ” 

“ With  Mademoiselle  de  Mancini.” 

D’Artagnan  breathed  freely  again.  “ Ah ! I don't  say 
no  to  that,”  replied  he. 

“ It  appears  that  the  king  took  you,  one  morning,  over 
the  bridge  of  Blois,  to  talk  with  his  lady-love.” 

“That’s  true,”  said  D’Artagnan.  “And  you  know 
that,  do  you  1 Well,  then,  you  must  know  that  the  same 
day  I gave  in  my  resignation.” 

“ What,  sincerely  ] ” 

“ Nothing  could  be  more  sincere.” 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  219 


“ It  was  then  that  you  went  to  the  Comte  de  la 
Fere’s  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Afterwards  tG  me  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  then  to  Porthos  1 99 
“Yes.” 

“ Was  it  in  order  to  pay  us  a simple  visit  ? ” 

“ No ; I did  not  know  you  were  engaged,  and  I wished 
to  take  you  with  me  into  England.” 

“Yes,  I understand;  and  then  you  executed  alone, 
wonderful  man  ! what  you  wanted  to  propose  to  us  four 
to  do.  I suspected  you  had  had  something  to  do  in  that 
famous  restoration,  when  I learned  that  you  had  been 
seen  at  King  Charles’s  receptions,  and  that  he  spoke  of 
you  as  a friend,  or  rather  as  a person  to  whom  he  was 
under  an  obligation.” 

“But  how  the  devil  could  you  learn  all  that1?”  de- 
manded D’Artagnan,  who  began  to  fear  that  the  investi- 
gations of  Aramis  would  extend  further  than  he  wished. 

“ Dear  D’Artagnan,”  said  the  prelate,  “ my  friendship 
resembles,  in  a degree,  the  solicitude  of  that  night-watch 
whom  we  have  in  the  little  tower  of  the  mole,  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  quay.  That  brave  man  every  night  lights 
a lantern  to  direct  the  boats  which  come  from  sea.  He 
is  concealed  in  his  watch-tower,  and  the  fishermen  do  not 
see  him ; but  he  follows  them  with  interest,  he  divines 
their  presence,  he  calls  them,  he  attracts  them  into  the 
way  to  the  port.  I resemble  this  watcher ; from  time  to 
time  some  news  reaches  me,  and  recalls  to  my  remem- 
brance all  that  I loved.  Then  I follow  the  friends  of  old 
days  over  the  stormy  ocean  of  the  world,  — I,  a poor 
watcher,  to  whom  God  has  kindly  given  the  shelter  of  a 
watch-tower.” 


220 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Well,  what  did  I do  after  I came  from  England  ]” 

“ Ah  ! ” replied  Aramis,  “ there  you  get  out  of  my 
sight.  I know  nothing  of  you  since  your  return,  D’Ar- 
iagnan  ; my  sight  grows  thick.  I regretted  you  did  not 
think  of  me.  I wept  over  your  forgetfulness.  I was 
wrong.  I see  you  again  ; and  it  is  a festival,  a great  fes- 
tival, I assure  you  ! How  is  Athos  'l  ” 

“ Very  well,  thank  you.” 

“ And  our  young  pupil,  Raoul  1 ” 

“ He  seems  to  have  inherited  the  skill  of  his  father, 
Athos,  and  the  strength  of  his  tutor,  Porthos.” 

“ And  on  what  occasion  have  you  been  able  to  judge  of 
that  1 ” 

“ Eh  ! mon  Dieu  ! the  very  day  before  my  departure 
from  Paris.” 

“ Indeed  ! what  was  it  % ” 

“ Yes ; there  was  an  execution  at  the  Greve,  and  in 
consequence  of  that  execution,  a riot.  We  happened,  by 
accident,  to  be  in  the  riot;  and  in  this  riot  we  were 
obliged  to  have  recourse  to  our  swords.  And  he  did 
wonders.” 

“ Bah  ! what  did  he  do  ? ” 

“ Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  threw  a man  out  of  the 
window  as  he  would  have  thrown  out  a bale  of  cotton.” 

“ Come,  that ’s  pretty  well ! ” said  Porthos. 

“ Then  he  drew,  and  cut  and  thrust  away,  as  we  fellows 
used  to  do  in  the  good  old  times.” 

“ And  what  was  the  cause  of  this  riot  ? ” inquired 
Porthos. 

D’Artagnan  noticed  upon  the  face  of  Aramis  a com- 
plete indifference  to  this  question  of  Porthos.  “Why,” 
said  he,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Aramis,  “ on  account  of  two 
farmers  of  the  revenues,  friends  of  M.  Fouquet,  whom  the 
king  forced  to  disgorge  their  plunder,  and  then  hanged.’' 


THE  GRANDEUR  OE  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  221 


A scarcely  perceptible  contraction  of  the  prelate’s  brow 
showed  that  he  had  heard  D’Artagnan’s  reply.  “ Oh  ! ” 
said  Porthos  ; “ and  what  were  the  names  of  these  friends 
of  M.  Fouquet  % ” 

“ Messieurs  d’Eymeris  and  Lyodot,”  said  D’Artagnan. 
“ Do  you  know  those  names,  Aramis  1 ” 

“No,”  said  the  prelate,  disdainfully ; “they  sound  like 
the  names  of  financiers.” 

“ Exactly  ; so  they  were.” 

“ Oh  ! M.  Fouquet  allows  his  friends  to  be  hanged, 
then  1 ” cried  Porthos. 

“ And  why  not  ! ” said  Aramis. 

“ Why,  it  seems  to  me  — ” 

“ If  these  culprits  were  hanged,  it  was  by  order  of  the 
king.  Now,  M.  Fouquet,  although  superintendent  of  the 
finances,  has  not,  I believe,  the  right  of  life  and  death.” 
“That  may  be,”  said  Porthos;  “but  in  the  place  of 
M.  Fouquet  — ” 

Aramis,  fearing  that  Porthos  was  about  to  say  some- 
thing awkward,  interrupted  him  : “ Come,  D’Artagnan  ! v 
said  he,  “ this  is  quite  enough  about  other  people  ; let  us 
talk  a little  about  yourself.” 

“ Of  me  you  know  all  that  I can  tell  you.  On  the 
contrary,  let  me  hear  a little  about  you,  Aramis.” 

“I  have  told  you,  my  friend.  There  is  nothing  of 
Aramis  left  in  me.” 

“Nor  of  the  Abbe  d’Herblay  even  ! ” 

“ No,  not  even  of  him.  You  see  a man  whom  God  has 
taken  by  the  hand,  whom  he  has  conducted  to  a position 
that  he  could  never  have  dared  even  to  hope  for.” 

“ God!”  asked  D’Artagnan. 

“ Yes.” 

“Well,  that  is  strange!  I have  been  told  it  was  M. 
Fouquet/’ 


222 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Who  told  you  that'?”  cried  Aramis,  without  being 
able,  with  all  the  power  of  his  will,  to  prevent  a slight 
flush  coloring  his  cheeks. 

“ Why,  Bazin,  in  faith  ! ” 

“ The  fool ! ” 

“ Indeed,  I do  not  say  he  is  a man  of  genius;  but  he 
told  me  so,  and  after  him  I repeat  it  to  you.” 

“ I have  never  seen  M.  Fouquet,”  replied  Aramis,  with 
a look  as  pure  and  calm  as  that  of  a virgin  who  has  never 
told  a lie. 

“ Well ; but  if  you  have  seen  him  and  even  known 
him,  there  is  no  harm  in  that,”  replied  D’Artagnan. 
“ M.  Fouquet  is  a very  good  sort  of  man.” 

Humph ! ” 

“ A great  politician.” 

Aramis  made  a gesture  of  indifference. 

“ An  all-powerful  minister.” 

“ I hold  only  of  the  king  and  the  Pope,”  said  Aramis. 

“ Dame  ! listen  then,”  said  D’Artagnan,  in  the  most 
natural  tone  imaginable.  “ I said  that  because  everybody 
here  swears  by  M.  Fouquet.  The  plain  is  M.  Fouquet’s; 
the  salt-mines  I have  bought  are  M.  Fouquet’s  ; the  island 
in  which  Porthos  studies  topography  is  M.  Fouquet’s  ; the 
garrison  is  M.  Fouquet’s;  the  galleys  are  M.  Fouquet’s. 
I confess,  then,  that  nothing  would  have  surprised  me  in 
your  enfeoffment,  or  rather  in  that  of  your  diocese,  to  M. 
Fouquet.  He  is  another  master  than  the  king,  that  is 
all ; but  quite  as  powerful  as  a king.” 

“ Thank  God ! I am  not  enfeoffed  to  anybody  ; I belong 
to  nobody,  and  am  entirely  my  own,”  replied  Aramis,  who 
during  this  conversation  followed  with  his  eye  every  ges- 
ture of  D’Artagnan,  every  glance  of  Porthos.  But  D’Ar- 
tagnan was  impassive  and  Porthos  motionless.  The  thrusts 
aimed  so  skilfully  were  parried  by  an  able  adversary ; not 


THE  GRANDEUR  OF  THE  BISHOP  OF  VANNES.  223 

one  hit  the  mark.  Nevertheless,  both  began  to  feel  the 
fatigue  of  such  a contest,  and  the  announcement  of  supper 
was  well  received  by  everybody.  Supper  changed  the 
course  of  conversation.  Besides,  they  felt  that,  upon  their 
guard  as  each  one  had  been,  they  could  neither  of  them 
boast  of  having  the  advantage.  Porthos  had  understood 
nothing  of  it  all.  He  had  remained  motionless,  because 
Aramis  had  made  him  a sign  not  to  stir.  Supper,  for 
him,  was  nothing  but  supper ; but  that  was  quite  enough 
for  Porthos.  The  supper,  then,  went  off  very  well.  D’Ar- 
tagnan  was  in  high  spirits.  Aramis  exceeded  himself  in 
kind  affability.  Porthos  ate  like  old  Pelops.  Their  talk 
was  of  war,  finance,  the  arts,  and  love.  Aramis  feigned 
astonishment  at  every  word  of  politics  D’Artagnan  risked. 
This  long  series  of  surprises  increased  the  mistrust  of 
D’Artagnan,  as  the  eternal  mistrust  of  D’Artagnan  pro- 
voked the  suspicions  of  Aramis.  At  length  D’Artagnan 
designedly  let  fall  the  name  of  Colbert ; he  had  reserved 
that  stroke  for  the  last. 

“ Who  is  this  Colbert  ] ” asked  the  bishop. 

“ Oh,  come,”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself,  “ that  is  too 
strong  ! We  must  be  careful,  mordioux we  must  be 
careful.” 

D’Artagnan  then  gave  Aramis  all  the  information  re- 
specting Colbert  he  could  desire.  The  supper,  or  rather 
the  conversation,  was  prolonged  till  one  o’clock  in  the 
morning,  between  D’Artagnan  and  Aramis.  At  ten 
o’clock  precisely  Porthos  had  fallen  asleep  in  his  chair, 
and  snored  like  an  organ.  At  midnight  he  woke  up, 
and  they  sent  him  to  bed.  “ Hum  ! ” said  he,  “ it  seems 
to  me  that  I was  near  falling  asleep  ; but  that  was  all  very 
interesting,  what  you  were  talking  about.” 

At  one  o’clock  Aramis  conducted  D’Artagnan  to  the 
chamber  destined  for  him,  which  was  the  best  in  the 


224 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


episcopal  palace.  Two  servants  were  placed  at  his  com- 
mand. “ To-morrowT,  at  eight  o’clock,”  said  he,  taking 
leave  of  D’Artagnan,  “ we  will  take,  if  agreeable  to  you, 
a ride  on  horseback  with  Porthos.” 

“ At  eight  o’clock  ! ” said  D’Artagnan  ; “ so  late  1 ” 

“ You  know  that  I require  seven  hours’  sleep,”  said 
Aram  is. 

“ That  is  true.” 

“ Good-night,  dear  friend ! ” and  he  embraced  the 
musketeer  cordially. 

D’Artagnan  allowed  him  to  depart;  then,  as  soon  as 
the  door  was  closed,  “ Good  ! ” said  he,  “ at  five  o’clock 
I will  be  on  foot.” 

Then,  this  determination  being  made,  he  went  to  bed, 
and  “ folded  the  pieces  together,”  as  people  say. 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  U’ARTAGNAN.  225 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

IN  WHICH  PORTHOS  BEGINS  TO  BE  SORRY  FOR  HAVING 
COME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN. 

Scarcely  had  D’Artagnan  extinguished  his  taper,  when 
Aramis,  who  had  watched  through  his  curtains  the  last 
glimmer  of  light  in  his  friend’s  apartment,  traversed  the 
corridor  on  tiptoe,  and  went  to  Porthos’  room.  The 
giant,  who  had  been  in  bed  nearly  an  hour  and  a half, 
lay  grandly  stretched  out  upon  the  eider-down.  He  was 
in  that  happy  calm  of  the  first  sleep,  which  with  Por- 
thos was  proof  against  the  noise  of  bells  or  the  report  of 
cannon ; his  head  swam  in  that  soft  oscillation  which  re- 
minds us  of  the  soothing  motion  of  a ship.  A moment 
more,  and  Porthos  would  have  begun  to  dream.  The 
door  of  the  chamber  opened  softly  under  the  delicate 
pressure  of  the  hand  of  Aramis.  The  bishop  approached 
the  sleeper.  A thick  carpet  deadened  the  sound  of  his 
steps ; and  besides,  Porthos  snored  in  a manner  to  drown 
all  noise.  Aramis  laid  one  hand  on  the  sleeper’s  shoulder. 
“ Eouse  ! ” said  he ; “ wake  up,  my  dear  Porthos  ! ” The 
voice  of  Aramis  was  soft  and  kind,  but  it  conveyed  more 
than  a notice,  — it  conveyed  an  order.  His  hand  was 
light,  but  it  indicated  a danger. 

Porthos  heard  the  voice  and  felt  the  hand  of  Aramis, 
even  in  the  profoundness  of  his  sleep.  He  started  up. 
“ Who  goes  there  ] ” said  he,  in  his  giant’s  voice. 

“ Hush  ! hush  ! It  is  I,”  said  Aramis. 

VOL.  II.  —15 


226 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Y ou,  my  friend  1 And  what  the  devil-do  you  wake 
me  for  1 ” 

“ To  tell  you  that  you  must  set  off  directly/ ’ 

“ Set  off]  ” 

“ Yes/ 

“ Where  for  1 ” 

“ For  Paris.’’ 

Porthos  bounded  up  in  his  bed,  and  then  sank  back 
again,  fixing  his  great  eyes  in  terror  upon  Aramis. 

“ For  Paris  % ” 

“Yes.” 

“ A hundred  leagues  1 ” said  he. 

“A  hundred  and  four,”  replied  the  bishop. 

“ Oh,  mon  Dieu  ! ” sighed  Porthos,  lying  down  again, 
like  those  children  who  contend  with  their  nurse  to  gain 
an  hour  or  two  more  sleep. 

“ Thirty  hours’  riding,”  added  Aramis,  firmly.  “ You 
know  there  are  good  relays.” 

Porthos  pushed  out  one  leg,  allowing  a groan  to  escape 
him. 

“ Come,  come,  my  friend  ! ” insisted  the  prelate,  with  a 
sort  of  impatience. 

Porthos  drew  the  other  leg  out  of  the  bed.  “ And  is  it 
absolutely  necessary  that  I should  go  ? ” said  he. 

“ Urgently  necessary.” 

Porthos  got  upon  his  feet,  and  began  to  shake  both  walls 
and  floors  with  steps  like  the  weight  of  a marble  statue. 

“ Hush  ! hush ! for  the  love  of  Heaven,  my  dear  Por 
thos!  ” said  Aramis;  “you  will  wake  somebody.” 

“ Ah  ! that ’s  true,”  replied  Porthos,  in  a voice  of  thun- 
der, “I  forgot  that;  but  never  fear,  I will  be  careful;” 
and  so  saying,  he  let  fall  a belt  loaded  with  his  sword 
and  pistols,  and  a purse,  from  which  the  crowns  escaped 
with  a ringing  and  prolonged  noise.  This  noise  made  the 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  227 


blood  of  Aramis  boil,  while  it  provoked  in  Porthos  a for- 
midable burst  of  laughter.  “ How  droll  that  is  ! ” said 
he,  in  the  same  voice. 

“Not  so  loud,  Porthos,  not  so  loud  ! ” 

“ True,  true ! ” and  he  lowered  his  voice  a half-note. 

“ I was  going  to  say,”  continued  Porthos,  “ that  it  is 
droll  that  we  are  never  so  slow  as  when  we  are  in  a hurry, 
and  never  make  so  much  noise  as  when  we  wish  to  be 
silent.” 

“Yes,  that  is  true ; but  let  us  give  the  proverb  the  lie, 
Porthos;  let  us  make  haste,  and  hold  our  tongues.” 

“ You  see  I am  doing  my  best,”  said  Porthos,  drawing 
on  his  trunk  hose. 

“ Very  well.” 

“ This  seems  to  be  something  urgent  ? ” 

“ It  is  more  than  that ; it  is  serious,  Porthos.” 

“ Oh  ! ” 

“ D’Artagnan  has  questioned  you,  has  he  not  ? ” 

“ Questioned  me  ? ” 

“Yes,  at  Belle-Isle'?” 

“ Not  the  least  in  the  world.” 

“ Are  you  sure  of  that,  Porthos?  ” 

“ Parbleu  ! ” 

“ It  is  impossible.  Recollect  yourself.” 

“ He  asked  me  what  I was  doing,  and  I told  him,  — • 
studying  topography.  I would  have  made  use  of  another 
word  which  you  employed  one  day.” 

“ Of  castrametation  ? ” 

“ Yes,  that  ?s  it ; but  I never  could  recollect  it.” 

“ All  the  better.  What  more  did  he  ask  you  ? ” 

“ Who  M.  Getard  was.” 

“ Next  ? ” 

“ Who  M.  Jupenet  was.” 

“ He  did  not  happen  to  see  our  plan  of  fortifications, 
did  he  ? ” 


228 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Yes.” 

“ The  devil  he  did  ! ” 

“ But  don’t  be  alarmed  ; I had  rubbed  out  jour  writing 
with  India-rubber.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  suppose 
you  had  given  me  any  advice  in  those  works.” 

“Ay ; but  our  friend  has  very  keen  eyes.” 
u What  are  you  afraid  of  ? ” 

“ I fear  that  everything  is  discovered,  Porthos  ; the  ne- 
cessity is,  then,  to  prevent  a great  misfortune.  I have 
given  orders  to  my  people  to  close  all  the  gates  and 
doors.  D’Artagnau  will  not  be  able  to  get  out  before 
daybreak.  Your  horse  is  ready  saddled ; you  will  gain 
the  first  relay ; by  five  o’clock  in  the  morning,  you  will 
have  gone  fifteen  leagues.  Come  ! ” 

Aramis  then  assisted  Porthos  to  dress,  piece  by  piece, 
with  as  much  celerity  as  the  most  skilful  valet  de  chambre 
could  have  done.  Porthos,  half  confused,  half  stupefied, 
let  him  do  as  he  liked,  and  was  lost  in  excuses.  When 
he  was  ready,  Aramis  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him, 
making  him  place  his  foot  with  precaution  on  every  step 
of  the  stairs,  preventing  his  running  against  door-frames, 
turning  him  this  way  and  that,  as  if  Aramis  had  been  the 
giant  and  Porthos  the  dwarf.  Soul  set  fire  to  and  ani- 
mated matter.  A horse  was  waiting,  ready  saddled,  in  the 
courtyard.  Porthos  mounted.  Then  Aramis  himself  took 
the  horse  by  the  bridle,  and  led  him  over  some  dung- 
spread  in  the  yard  with  the  evident  intention  of  sup- 
pressing noise.  He  at  the  same  time  pinched  the 
horse’s  nose,  to  prevent  him  from  neighing.  When  they 
had  arrived  at  the  outer  gate,  drawing  Porthos  towards 
him,  who  was  going  off  without  even  asking  him  what  for, 
“ Now,  Friend  Porthos,  now  ; without  drawing  bridle,  till 
you  get  to  Paris,”  whispered  he,  in  his  ear ; “ cat  on 
horseback,  drink  on  horseback,  sleep  on  horseback,  but 
lose  not  a minute  ! ” 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  229 


“ That  ’s  enough ; I will  not  stop.” 

“ This  letter  to  M.  Fouquet ; cost  what  it  may,  he  must 
have  it  to-morrow  before  midday.” 

“ He  shall  have  it.” 

“ And  do  not  forget  one  thing,  my  friend.” 

“ What  is  that  ? ” 

“ That  you  are  riding  after  your  title  of  duke  and  peer.” 
“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” said  Porthos,  with  his  eyes  sparkling ; “ I 
will  do  it  in  twenty-four  hours  in  that  case.” 

“ Try  to  do  so.” 

“ Then  let  go  the  bridle;  and  forward,  Goliath  ! ” 
Aramis  did  let  go,  — not  the  bridle,  but  the  horse’s 
nose.  Porthos  released  his  hand,  clapped  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  the  maddened  animal  set  off  at  a gallop.  As 
long  as  he  could  distinguish  Porthos  through  the  dark- 
ness, Aramis  followed  him  with  his  eyes;  then,  when 
he  was  completely  out  of  sight,  re-entered  the  yard. 
Nothing  had  stirred  in  D’ArtagnaiTs  apartment.  The 
valet  placed  on  watch  at  the  door  had  neither  seen 
any  light  nor  heard  any  noise.  Aramis  closed  his  door 
carefully,  sent  the  lackey  to  bed,  and  quickly  sought  his 
own. 

D’Artagnan  really  suspected  nothing,  therefore  thought 
he  had  gained  everything,  when  he  awoke  in  the  morning 
about  half-past  four.  He  ran  to  the  window  in  his  shirt. 
The  window  looked  out  upon  the  court.  Day  was  dawn- 
ing. The  court  was  deserted ; the  fowls,  even,  had  not 
yet  left  their  roosts.  Not  a servant  appeared.  All  the 
doors  were  closed. 

“Good!  perfect  quiet!”  said  D’Artagnan  to  himself. 
“ Never  mind  ; I am  up  first  in  the  house.  Let  us  dress ; 
that  will  be  so  much  done  ; ” and  D’Artagnan  dressed 
himself.  But  this  time  he  did  not  study  to  give  to  the 
costume  of  M.  Agnan  that  plain  and  almost  ecclesiastical 


230 


THE  VI COMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


appearance  he  had  affected  before  ; he  managed,  by  drawing 
his  belt  tighter,  by  buttoning  his  clothes  in  a different 
fashion,  and  by  putting  on  his  hat  a little  on  one  side,  to 
restore  to  his  person  somewhat  of  that  military  character 
the  absence  of  which  had  surprised  Aramis.  This  being 
done,  he  made  free,  or  rather  affected  to  make  free,  with 
his  host,  and  entered  his  chamber  without  ceremony. 

Aramis  was  asleep,  or  feigned  to  be  asleep.  A large 
hook  lay  open  upon  his  night-desk  ; a wax-light  was  still 
burning  above  its  silver  tray.  This  was  more  than  enough 
to  prove  to  D’Artagnan  the  innocence  of  the  prelate’s 
night,  and  the  good  intentions  of  his  waking.  The  mus- 
keteer did  to  the  bishop  precisely  as  the  bishop  had  done 
to  Porthos,  — he  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  Evidently 
Aramis  pretended  to  sleep ; for  instead  of  waking  sud- 
denly, he  who  slept  so  lightly,  required  a repetition  of 
the  summons. 

“ Ah  ! is  that  you  % ” said  he,  stretching  his  arms. 
“ What  an  agreeable  surprise  ! Eaitli ! sleep  had  made 
me  forget  I had  the  happiness  to  possess  you.  What 
o’clock  is  it  ] ” 

“ I do  not  know,”  said  D’Artagnan,  a little  embarrassed. 
“ Early,  I believe.  But,  you  know,  that  devil  of  a mili- 
tary habit  of  waking  with  the  day  sticks  to  me  still.” 

“ Do  you  wish  that  we  should  go  out  so  soon  ] ” asked 
Aramis.  “ It  appears  to  me  to  be  very  early.” 

“Just  as  you  like.” 

“ I thought  we  had  agreed  not  to  get  on  horseback 
before  eight.” 

“ Possibly  ; but  I had  so  great  a wish  to  see  you,  that 
I said  to  myself,  the  sooner  the  better.” 

“And  my  seven  hours’  sleep]”  said  Aramis.  “Take 
care  l I had  reckoned  upon  them  5 and  what  I lose  of  them 
I must  make  up.” 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  231 

“ But  it  seems  to  me  that  formerly  you  were  less  of  a 
sleeper  than  that,  dear  friend ; your  blood  was  alive,  and 
you  were  never  to  be  found  in  bed.” 

“And  it  is  exactly  on  account  of  what  you  tell  me, 
that  I am  so  fond  of  being  there  now.” 

“ Then  you  confess  that  it  is  not  for  the  sake  of  sleep- 
ing that  you  have  put  me  off  till  eight  o’clock.” 

“ I was  afraid  you  would  laugh  at  me  if  I told  you  the 
truth.” 

“ Tell  me,  notwithstanding.” 

“ Well,  from  six  to  eight,  I am  accustomed  to  perform 
my  devotions.” 

“ Your  devotions  1 ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I did  not  believe  a bishop’s  exercises  were  so  severe.” 
“ A bishop,  my  friend,  must  sacrifice  more  to  appear- 
ances than  a simple  clerk.” 

“ Mordioux  ! Aramis,  that  is  a word  which  reconciles 
me  with  your  greatness.  To  appearances  ! That  is  a 
musketeer’s  word,  in  good  truth  ! Hurrah  for  appear- 
ances, Aramis  ! ” 

“Instead  of  felicitating  me  upon  it,  pardon  it  me, 
D’Artagnan.  It  is  a very  mundane  word  which  I have 
allowed  to  escape  me.” 

“ Must  I leave  you,  then  ? ” 

“ I want  time  for  meditation,  my  friend.” 

“Well,  I will  leave  you;  but  for  the  sake  of  that  poor 
pagan  called  D’Artagnan,  abridge  them  for  once,  I beg  : 
I thirst  for  speech  of  you.” 

“ Well,  D’Artagnan,  I promise  you  that  within  an  hour 
and  a half — ” 

“ An  hour  and  a half  of  devotions  ! Ah ! my  friend, 
be  as  reasonable  with  me  as  you  can.  Let  me  have  the 
best  bargain  possible.” 


232 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Aramis  began  to  laugh.  “ Still  agreeable,  still  young, 
still  gay/’  said  he.  “ You  have  come  into  my  diocese  to 
set  me  quarrelling  with  grace.” 

“ Bah ! ” 

“ And  you  know  well  that  I was  never  able  to  re- 
sist your  seductions ; you  will  cost  me  my  salvation, 
D’Artagnan.” 

D’Artagnan  bit  his  lips  “Well,”  said  he,  “I  will 
take  the  sin  on  my  own  head  ; favor  me  with  one  simple 
Christian  sign  of  the  cross  and  hurry  through  with  one 
pater,  and  we  will  set  out.” 

“ Hush  ! ” said  Aramis,  “ we  are  no  longer  alone ; I 
hear  strangers  coming  up.” 

66  Well,  dismiss  them.” 

“ Impossible ; I made  an  appointment  with  them  yes* 
terday.  It  is  the  principal  of  the  college  of  the  Jesuits, 
and  the  superior  of  the  Dominicans.” 

“ Your  staff  1 Well,  so  be  it.” 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  ] ” 

“ I am  going  to  wake  Porthos,  and  wait  in  his  company 
till  you  have  finished  the  conference.” 

Aramis  did  not  stir ; his  brow  remained  unbent ; he  be- 
trayed himself  by  no  gesture  or  word.  “ Go,”  said  he, 
as  D’Artagnan  advanced  to  the  door.  “ By  the  way, 
do  you  know  where  Porthos  sleeps'?” 

“ No,  but  I can  inquire.” 

“ Take  the  corridor,  and  open  the  second  door  on  the 
left.” 

“ Thank  you ; au  revoir  ! ” and  D’Artagnan  departed 
in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  Aramis. 

Ten  minutes  had  not  elapsed  when  he  came  back.  He 
found  Aramis  seated  between  the  superior  of  the  Domin- 
icans and  the  principal  of  the  college  of  the  Jesuits,  ex- 
actly in  the  same  situation  in  which  he  had  found  him 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  233 


formerly  in  the  inn  at  Crevecoeur.  This  company  did 
not  at  all  terrify  the  musketeer. 

“ What  is  it  ]”  said  Aramis,  quietly.  “You  have,  ap- 
parently, something  to  say  to  me,  my  friend.” 

“It  is,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Ara- 
mis,  — “it  is  that  Porthos  is  not  in  his  apartment.” 

“ Indeed  ! ” said  Aramis,  calmly  ; “ are  you  sure  ] ” 

“ Pardieu  ! I came  from  his  chamber.” 

“ Where  can  he  be,  then  ] ” 

“That  is  what  I ask  you.” 

“ And  have  you  not  inquired  ] ” 

“ Yes,  I have.” 

“ And  what  answer  did  you  get  ] ” 

“That  Porthos,  often  going  out  of  a morning  without 
saying  anything  to  anybody,  had  probably  gone  out.” 
“What  did  you  do  then]” 

“ I went  to  the  stables,”  replied  D’Artagnan,  carelessly. 
“What  for]” 

“ To  see  if  Porthos  had  gone  out  on  horseback.” 

“And  had  he  ] ” interrogated  the  bishop. 

“ Well,  there  is  a horse  missing,  — - stall  No.  5,  Goliath.” 
All  this  dialogue,  it  may  be  easily  understood,  was  not 
free  from  a certain  affectation  on  the  part  of  the  muske- 
teer, and  a perfect  complaisance  on  the  part  of  Aramis. 

“ Oh  ! I see  how  it  is,”  said  Aramis,  after  having  con- 
sidered for  a moment ; “ Porthos  has  gone  out  to  give  us 
a surprise.” 

“ A surprise  ] ” 

“Yes.  The  canal  which  leads  from  Yannes  to  the  sea 
abounds  in  teal  and  snipes  ; that  is  Porthos’  favorite  sport, 
and  he  will  bring  us  back  a dozen  for  our  breakfast.” 

“ Do  you  think  so  ] ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“I  am  sure  of  it.  Where  else  can  he  have  gone]  I 
would  lay  a wager  that  he  took  a gun  with  him.” 


234 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ That  is  possible,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ Do  one  thing,  my  friend  : get  on  horseback,  and  join 
him.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  D’Artagnan  ; “ I will.” 

“ Do  you  wish  me  to  accompany  you  1 ” 

“No,  thank  you.  Porthos  is  easily  recognizable;  I 
will  inquire  as  I go  along.” 

“ Will  you  take  an  arquebuse  ? ” 

“ Thank  you.” 

“Order  what  horse  you  like  to  be  saddled.” 

“ The  one  I rode  yesterday,  on  coming  from  Belle-Isle.” 
“ So  be  it ; use  my  establishment  as  your  own.” 

Aramis  rang,  and  gave  orders  to  have  the  horse  M. 
d’Artagnan  had  chosen  saddled. 

D’Artagnan  followed  the  servant  charged  with  the 
execution  of  this  order.  When  about  to  pass  through 
the  door,  the  servant  stepped  aside  to  allow  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  to  pass;  and  at  that  moment  he  caught  the 
eye  of  his  master.  A contraction  of  the  brow  gave 
the  intelligent  spy  to  understand  that  all  should  be 
given  to  D’Artagnan  that  he  wished.  D’Artagnan  got 
into  the  saddle,  and  Aramis  heard  the  clatter  of  the 
hoofs  on  the  pavement.  An  instant  after,  the  servant 
returned. 

“ Well]”  demanded  the  bishop. 

“ Monseigneur,  he  has  followed  the  course  of  the  canal, 
and  is  going  towards  the  sea,”  said  the  servant. 

“ Very  well ! ” said  Aramis. 

In  fact,  D’Artagnan,  dismissing  all  suspicion,  hastened 
towards  the  ocean,  constantly  hoping  to  see  on  the  moors 
or  on  the  beach  the  colossal  form  of  his  friend  Porthos. 
He  persisted  in  fancying  that  he  could  trace  a horse’s 
step  in  every  puddle.  Sometimes  he  imagined  that  he 
heard  the  report  of  a gun.  This  illusion  lasted  three 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  235 


hours  : during  two  of  them  he  went  forward  in  search  of 
his  friend ; in  the  last  he  returned  to  the  house. 

“We  must  have  passed  each  other,”  said  he,  “and  I 
shall  find  the  two  good  fellows  waiting  for  me  at  table.” 
D’Artagnan  was  mistaken ; he  no  more  found  Porthos 
at  the  palace  than  he  had  found  him  on  the  banks  of  the 
canal.  Aramis  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  looking  very  much  concerned. 

“ Did  my  people  not  find  you,  my  dear  D’Artagnan  1 ” 
cried  he,  as  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  musketeer. 

“ No  ; did  you  send  any  one  after  me  ? ” 

“ I am  deeply  concerned,  my  friend,  deeply,  to  have 
induced  you  to  make  such  a useless  search  ; but  about 
seven  o’clock  the  almoner  of  St.  Paterne  came  here.  He 
had  met  Du  Vallon,  who  was  going  away,  and  who,  being 
unwilling  to  disturb  anybody  at  the  palace,  had  charged 
him  to  tell  me  that,  fearing  M.  Getard  would  play  him 
some  ill  turn  in  his  absence,  he  was  going  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  morning  tide  to  cross  over  to  Belle-Isle.” 

“ But,  tell  me,  Goliath  has  not  crossed  the  four  leagues 
of  sea,  surely  h ” 

“ There  are  full  six,”  said  Aramis. 

“ That  makes  it  less  probable  still.” 

“Therefore,  my  friend,”  said  Aramis,  with  one  of  his 
blandest  smiles,  “ Goliath  is  in  the  stable,  well  pleased, 
I will  answer  for  it,  that  Porthos  is  no  longer  on  his 
back.” 

In  fact,  the  horse  had  been  brought  back  from  the 
relay  by  the  direction  of  the  prelate,  whom  no  detail 
escaped.  D’Artagnan  appeared  as  well  satisfied  as  pos- 
sible with  the  explanation.  He  entered  upon  a role  of 
dissimulation  which  agreed  perfectly  with  the  suspicions 
that  arose  more  and  more  strongly  in  his  mind.  He 
breakfasted  between  the  Jesuit  and  Aramis,  having  the 


236 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Dominican  in  front  of  him,  and  smiling  particularly  at 
the  Dominican,  whose  jolly  fat  face  pleased  him  much. 
The  repast  was  long  and  sumptuous : excellent  Span- 
ish wine,  fine  Morbihan  oysters,  exquisite  fish  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Loire,  enormous  prawns  from  Paimboeuf, 
and  delicious  game  from  the  moors  constituted  the  prin- 
cipal part  of  it.  D’Artagnan  ate  much,  and  drank  but 
little.  Aramis  drank  nothing,  unless  it  was  water.  After 
breakfast,  — 

“You  offered  me  an  arquebuse,”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ I did.” 

“Lend  it  to  me,  then.” 

“ Are  you  going  shooting  ? ” 

“ While  waiting  for  Porthos,  it  is  the  best  thing  I can 
do,  I think.” 

“ Take  which  you  like  from  the  rack.” 

“ Will  you  not  come  with  me  ? ” 

“ I would  with  great  pleasure  ; but,  alas  ! my  friend, 
sporting  is  forbidden  to  bishops.” 

“Ah  !”  said  D’Artagnan,  “ I did  not  know  that.” 

“ Besides,”  continued  Aramis,  “ I shall  be  busy  till 
midday.” 

“ I shall  go  alone,  then!  ” said  D’Artagnan. 

“ I am  sorry  to  say  you  must ; but  be  sure  to  come 
back  to  dinner.” 

“ Pardieu ! the  eating  at  your  house  is  too  good  to 
make  me  think  of  not  coming  back.” 

Thereupon  D’Artagnan  took  leave  of  his  host,  bowed 
to  the  guests,  and  ‘took  his  arquebuse,  but,  instead  of 
shooting,  went  straight  to  the  little  port  of  Vannes. 
He  looked  back  to  see  if  anybody  was  following  him,  but 
saw  no  one.  He  chartered  a little  fishing-boat  for  twenty- 
five  livres,  and  set  off  at  half-past  eleven,  convinced  that 
he  had  not  been  followed ; and  that  was  true.  He  had 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  I)  ARTAGNAN.  237 


not  been  followed;  but  a Jesuit  brother,  stationed  in  the 
top  of  the  steeple  of  his  church  and  aided  by  an  excel- 
lent glass,  had  not,  since  the  morning,  lost  sight  of  one 
of  his  steps.  At  a quarter  to  twelve  Aram  is  was  informed 
that  D’Artagnan  was  sailing  towards  Belle-Isle. 

The  voyage  was  rapid  ; a good  north-northeast  wind 
drove  him  towards  the  isle.  As  he  gradually  approached, 
his  eyes  were  searching  the  coast.  He  looked  to  see  if, 
upon  the  shore  or  upon  the  fortifications,  the  brilliant 
dress  and  vast  stature  of  Porthos  might  be  standing  out 
against  the  slightly  clouded  sky.  But  his  search  was 
in  vain;  he  landed  without  having  seen  anything,  and 
learned  from  the  first  soldier  interrogated  by  him  that 
M.  du  Vallon  had  not  yet  returned  from  Vannes. 
Then,  without  losing  an  instant,  D’Artagnan  ordered 
his  little  boat  to  put  its  head  towards  Sarzeau.  We 
know  that  the  wind  changes  with  the  different  hours 
of  the  day  : it  had  gone  round  from  north-northeast  to 
southeast ; the  wind,  then,  was  almost  as  good  for  the 
return  to  Sarzeau  as  it  had  been  for  the  voyage  to 
Belle-Isle.  In  three  hours  D’Artagnan  had  reached 
the  Continent ; two  hours  more  sufficed  for  his  ride  to 
Vannes.  In  spite  of  the  rapidity  of  his  passage,  what 
D’Artagnan  endured  of  impatience  and  anger  during 
that  passage,  only  the  deck  of  the  vessel  upon  which  he 
stamped  backward  and  forward  for  three  hours  could 
relate  to  history.  He  made  but  one  bound  from  the 
quay  whereon  he  landed  to  the  episcopal  palace.  He 
thought  to  terrify  Aramis  by  the  suddenness  of  his 
return ; he  wished  to  reproach  him  with  his  duplicity, 
— with  reserve,  but  with  sufficient  spirit,  nevertheless, 
to  make  him  feel  all  the  consequences  of  it,  and  force 
from  him  a part  of  his  secret.  He  hoped,  in  short,  — 
thanks  to  that  force  of  expression  which  is  to  mysteries 


238 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


what  the  charge  with  the  bayonet  is  ta  redoubts,  — to 
bring  the  mysterious  Aramis  to  some  manifestation  or 
other.  But  he  found  in  the  vestibule  of  the  palace  the 
valet  de  chambre , who  closed  the  passage,  while  smiling 
upon  him  with  a sanctimonious  air, 

“ Monseigneur  !l  ” cried  D’Artagnan,  endeavoring  to  put 
him  aside  with  his  hand.  Staggered  for  an  instant,  the 
valet  resumed  his  perpendicular. 

“ Monseigneur  1 ” said  he. 

“ Yes,  to  be  sure ; do  you  not  know  me,  idiot  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; you  are  the  Chevalier  d’Artagnan.” 

“ Then  let  me  pass/’ 

“ It  is  of  no  use.” 

“ Why  of  no  use  ? ” 

“ Because  his  Greatness  is  not  at  home.” 

“ What ! his  Greatness  is  not  at  home  ] where  is  he, 
then?” 

“ Gone.” 

“ GoneT 
“ Yes.” 

“ Whither  1 ” 

“ I don’t  know  ; but  perhaps  he  tells  Monsieur  the 
Chevalier.” 

“ And  how  1 where  ? in  what  way  1 ” 

“ In  this  letter  which  he  gave  me  for  Monsieur  the 
Chevalier;  ” and  the  valet  de  chambre  drew  a letter  from 
his  pocket. 

“ Give  it  to  me,  then,  you  rascal  ! ” said  D’Artagnan, 
snatching  it  from  his  hand.  “ Oh,  yes,”  continued  he,  at 
the  first  line,  “ yes,  I understand ; ” and  he  read  : — 

Dear  Friend,  — An  affair  of  the  most  urgent  nature  calls 
me  to  a distant  parish  of  my  diocese.  I hoped  to  see  you  again 
before  I set  out ; but  I lose  that  hope  on  thinking  that  you  are 
going,  no  doubt,  to  remain  two  or  three  days  at  Belle-Isle, 


PORTHOS  SORRY  HE  CAME  WITH  D’ARTAGNAN.  239 


with  our  dear  Porthos.  Amuse  yourself  as  well  as  you  can ; 
hut  do  not  attempt  to  hold  out  against  him  at  table.  This  is 
a counsel  I might  have  given  even  to  Athos,  in  his  most  bril- 
liant and  best  days.  Adieu,  dear  friend  ; believe  that  I regret 
greatly  not  having  better  and  for  a longer  time  profited  by 
your  excellent  company. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  “ I am  tricked.  Ah  ! 
blockhead,  brute,  triple  fool  that  I am ! But  let  them 
laugh  best  who  laugh  last.  Oh,  duped,  duped,  like  a 
monkey  cheated  with  an  empty  nutshell ! ” and  with  a 
hearty  blowT  bestowed  upon  the  nose  of  the  still  grinning 
valet  de  chambre , he  made  all  haste  out  of  the  episcopal 
palace.  F uret,  however  good  a trotter,  was  not  ecpial  to 
present  circumstances.  D’Artagnan  therefore  took  the 
post,  and  chose  a horse,  which  he  made  to  understand, 
with  good  spurs  and  a light  hand,  that  stags  are  not  the 
most  agile  coursers  in  creation. 


240 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN  WHICH  D?ARTAGNAN  MAKES  ALL  SPEED,  PORTHOS  SNORES, 
AND  ARAMIS  COUNSELS. 

From  thirty  to  thirty-five  hours  after  the  events  we  have 
just  related,  as  M.  Fouquet,  according  to  his  custom, 
having  forbidden  interruption,  was  working  in  the  cabi- 
net of  his  house  at  St.  Maude,  with  which  we  are  already 
acquainted,  a carriage  drawn  by  four  horses  streaming 
with  sweat  entered  the  court  at  full  gallop.  This  carriage 
was  probably  expected  ; for  three  or  four  lackeys  has- 
tened to  the  door,  which  they  opened.  While  M.  Fou- 
quet rose  from  his  desk  and  ran  to  the  window,  a man 
got  painfully  out  of  the  carriage,  descending  with  diffi- 
culty the  three  steps,  leaning  upon  the  shoulders  of  the 
lackeys.  He  had  scarcely  uttered  his  name,  when  the 
lackey  upon  whom  he  was  not  leaning  sprang  up  the 
steps  and  disappeared  in  the  vestibule.  This  man  went 
to  inform  his  master ; but  he  had  no  occasion  to  knock 
at  the  door,  Fouquet  was  standing  on  the  threshold. 

“ Monseigneur,  the  Bishop  of  Vannes,”  said  he. 

“Very  well,”  replied  his  master. 

Then,  leaning  oyer  the  baluster  of  the  staircase,  of 
which  Aramis  was  beginning  to  ascend  the  first  steps, 
“ You,  dear  friend  ! ” said  he,  “you,  so  soon  ! ” 

“ Yes ; I myself,  Monsieur ! but  bruised,  battered,  as 
you  see.” 

“ Oh,  my  poor,  dear  friend  ! ” said  Fouquet,  presenting 
him  his  arm,  upon  which  Aramis  leaned,  while  the  ser- 
vants drew  back  with  respect. 


D’ARTAGNAN,  PORTHOS,  AND  ARAMIS. 


241 


“ Bah  ! ” replied  Aramis,  “ it  is  nothing,  since  I am 
here.  The  principal  thing  was  that  I should  get  here, 
and  here  I am.” 

“Speak  quickly,”  said  Fouquet,  closing  the  door  of  his 
cabinet  behind  Aramis  and  himself. 

“ Are  we  alone  % ” 

“Yes,  perfectly.” 

“No  one  can  listen  to  us  ; no  one  can  hear  us  1 ” 

“ Have  no  fear  ; nobody.” 

“ Has  M.  du  Yallon  arrived  ] ” 

“Yes” 

“ And  you  have  received  my  letter  % ” 

“Yes.  The  affair  is  serious,  apparently,  since  it  neces- 
sitates your  presence  in  Paris  at  a moment  when  your 
presence  was  so  needed  out  there.” 

“You  are  right;  it  cannot  be  more  serious.” 

“ Thank  you  ! thank  you  ! What  is  it  about  1 But, 
for  God’s  sake  ! before  anything  else,  take  time  to  breathe, 
dear  friend  ! You  are  so  pale,  you  frighten  me.” 

“ I am  really  in  great  pain.  But,  for  Heaven’s  sake, 
think  nothing  about  me.  Did  M.  du  Yallon  tell  you 
nothing,  when  he  delivered  the  letter  to  youl” 

“No.  I heard  a great  noise ; I went  to  the  window  ; I 
saw  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  as  it  were  a horseman  of 
marble ; I went  down,  he  held  the  letter  out  to  me,  and 
his  horse  fell  down  dead.” 

“ But  he  1 ” 

“ He  fell  with  the  horse ; he  was  lifted  up,  and  carried 
to  an  apartment.  Having  read  the  letter,  I went  up  to 
him,  in  hopes  of  obtaining  more  ample  information  ; but 
he  was  asleep,  and  after  such  a fashion  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  wake  him.  I took  pity  on  him,  and  gave 
orders  that  his  boots  should  be  taken  off,  and  that  he 
should  be  left  quite  undisturbed.” 

VOL.  II.  — 16 


242 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Very  good;  now,  this  is  the  question  in  hand,  Mon- 
seigneur. You  have  seen  M.  d’Artagnan  in  Paris,  have 
you  not  ] ” 

“ Certainly,  and  think  him  a man  of  intelligence,  and 
even  a man  of  heart,  although  he  did  bring  about  the 
death  of  our  dear  friends  Lyodot  and  D’Eymeris.” 

“ Alas  ! yes,  I heard  of  that.  At  Tours  I met  the 
courier  who  was  bringing  me  the  letter  from  Gourville 
and  the  despatches  from  Pellisson.  Have  you  seriously 
considered  that  event,  Monsieur  1 ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And  in  it  you  perceived  a direct  attack  upon  your 
sovereignty  % ” 

“ Do  you  believe  it  to  be  so  % ” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I think  so.” 

“ Well,  I must  confess  that  gloomy  idea  occurred  to 
me  also.” 

“ Do  not  blind  yourself,  Monsieur,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven  ! Listen  attentively  to  me.  I return  to 

D’Artagnan.” 

“ I am  all  attention.” 

“ Under  what  circumstances  did  you  see  him  ]” 

“ He  came  here  for  money.” 

“ With  what  kind  of  order]  ” 

“ With  an  order  from  the  king.” 

“ Direct  ] ” 

“Signed  by  his  Majesty.” 

“ There,  then  ! Well,  D’Artagnan  has  been  to  Belle” 
Isle;  he  was  disguised;  he  passed,  for  some  sort  of  a 
steward,  charged  by  his  master  to  purchase  salt-mines. 
Now,  D’Artagnan  has  no  other  master  than  the  king;  he 
came,  then,  sent  by  the  king.  He  saw  Porthos.” 

“ Who  is  Porthos  1 ” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  I made  a mistake.  He  saw  M.  du 


D’ARTAGNAN,  PORTHOS,  AND  ARAMIS. 


243 


Yallon  at  Belle-Isle;  and  he  knows,  as  well  as  you  and  I 
do,  that  Belle-Isle  is  fortified.” 

“ And  you  think  that  the  king  sent  him  there  ]”  said 
Fouquet,  thoughtfully. 

“ I certainly  do.” 

“ And  D’Artagnan,  in  the  hands  of  the  king,  is  a dan- 
gerous instrument  ] ” 

“ The  most  dangerous  imaginable.” 

“ Then  I formed  a correct  opinion  of  him  at  the  first 
glance.” 

“ Howt  so  ] ” 

“ I wished  to  attach  him  to  myself.” 

“If  you  judged  him  to  be  the  bravest,  the  most  acute, 
and  the  most  adroit  man  in  France,  you  have  judged 
correctly.” 

“He  must  be  ours,  then,  at  any  price.” 

“ D’Artagnan  1 ” 

“ Is  not  that  your  opinion  1 ” 

“ It  may  be  my  opinion,  but  you  will  never  have 
him.” 

“ Why]” 

“ Because  we  have  allowed  the  time  to  go  by.  He  was 
dissatisfied  with  the  court ; we  should  have  profited  by 
that.  Since  that,  he  has  been  over  to  England  ; there  he 
powerfully  assisted  in  the  restoration,  and  gained  a for- 
tune ; since  then  he  has  returned  to  the  service  of  the 
king.  Well,  the  reason  of  his  return  to  the  service  of  the 
king  is  that  he  has  been  well  paid  for  the  service.” 

“We  will  pay  him  still  better,  that  is  all.” 

“Oh,  Monsieur,  excuse  me;  D’Artagnan  has  a high 
sense  of  his  word,  and  where  that  word  is  once  engaged, 
it  remains  inviolable.” 

“What  do  you  conclude,  then]”  said  Fouquet,  with 
great  uneasiness. 


244 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ That,  for  the  present,  the  principal  thing  is  to  parry 
a dangerous  blow.’ 

“ And  how  is  it  to  be  parried?” 

“ Listen.  D’Artagnan  will  come  and  render  an  ac- 
count to  the  king  of  his  mission.” 

“ Oh,  we  have  time  enough  to  think  about  that.” 

“ How  so  ? ” 

“ You  have  a good  start  of  him,  I presume?” 

“ Nearly  ten  hours.” 

“ Well,  in  ten  hours  — ” 

Aramis  shook  his  weary  head.  “ Look  at  those  clouds 
which  flit  across  the  sky,  at  those  swallows  which  cut  the 
air.  D’Artagnan  moves  more  quickly  than  the  cloud  or 
the  bird  ; D’Artagnan  is  the  wind  which  carries  them.” 

“ Nonsense  ! ” 

“ I tell  you  that  man  is  something  superhuman,  Mon- 
sieur. He  is  of  my  age,  and  I have  known  him  these 
five-and-thirty  years.” 

“ Well  ? ” 

“Well,  listen  to  my  calculation,  Monsieur.  I sent 
M.  du  Vallon  off  to  you  at  two  hours  after  midnight. 
M.  du  Vallon  was  eight  hours  in  advance  of  me ; when 
did  M.  du  Vallon  arrive?” 

“ About  four  hours  ago.” 

“ You  see,  then,  that  I gained  four  upon  him ; and 
yet  Porthos  is  a stanch  horseman,  and  has  left  on  the 
road  eight  dead  horses,  whose  bodies  I passed  one  after 
another.  I rode  post  fifty  leagues.  But  I have  the  gout, 
the  gravel,  and  what  else  I know  not;  so  that  fatigue 
kills  me.  I was  obliged  to  dismount  at  Tours ; since 
that,  roiling  along  in  a carriage,  half  dead,  sometimes 
overturned,  often  drawn  upon  the  sides  and  sometimes 
on  the  back  of  the  carriage,  always  with  four  spirited 
horses  at  full  gallop,  I have  arrived, — arrived,  gaining 


D’ARTAGNAN,  PORTHOS,  AND  ARAMIS.  245 

four  hours  upon  Porthos.  But,  look  you,  D’Artagnan  does 
not  weigh  three  hundredweight,  as  Porthos  does ; D’Ar- 
tagnan  has  not  the  gout  and  the  gravel,  as  I have ; he  is 
not  a horseman,  he  is  a centaur.  D’Artagnan,  look  you, 
set  out  for  Belle  Isle  when  I set  out  for  Paris;  and  D’Ar- 
tagnan, notwithstanding  the  ten  hours’  start  that  I have, 
will  arrive  within  two  hours  after  me.” 

“ But,  then,  accidents  ? ” 

“ He  never  meets  with  any  accidents.” 

“ Horses  may  fail  him.” 

“ He  will  run  as  fast  as  a horse.” 

“ Good  God  ! what  a man  ! ” 

“ Yes,  he  is  a man  whom  I love  and  admire.  I love 
him  because  he  is  good,  great,  and  loyal  ; I admire  him 
because  he  represents  to  me  the  culminating  point  of 
human  powers  : but  while  loving  and  admiring  him,  I 
fear  him,  and  am  on  my  guard  against  him.  Now,  then, 
I resume,  Monsieur.  In  two  hours  D’Artagnan  will  be 
here  : be  beforehand  with  him.  Go  to  the  Louvre,  and 
see  the  king  before  he  sees  D’Artagnan.” 

“ What  shall  I say  to  the  king  V1 
“ Nothing  ; give  him  Belle-Isle.” 

“ Oh,  M.  d’Herblay ! M.  d’Herblay ! ” cried  Fouquet, 
“ what  projects  are  crushed  all  at  once  ! ” 

“ After  one  project  has  failed,  there  is  always  another 
which  may  lead  to  good ; we  should  never  despair.  Go, 
Monsieur,  and  go  quickly.” 

“ But  that  garrison,  so  carefully  chosen,  the  king  will 
change  it  directly.” 

“That  garrison,  Monsieur,  was  the  king’s  when  it  en- 
tered Belle-Isle ; it  is  yours  to-day.  It  will  be  the  same 
with  all  garrisons  after  a fortnight’s  occupation.  Let 
things  go  on,  Monsieur.  Do  yoh  see  any  inconven- 
ience in  having  an  army  at  the  end  of  a year,  instead  of 


246 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


one  or  two  regiments  ? Do  you  not  see  that  your  garri- 
son of  to-day  will  make  you  partisans  at  La  Rochelle, 
Nantes,  Bordeaux,  Toulouse,  — everywhere  they  may  be 
placed  ? Go  to  the  king,  Monsieur ; go  ! Time  flies  ; and 
D’Artagnan,  while  we  are  losing  our  time,  is  flying  like  an 
arrow  along  the  highroad.” 

“ M.  d’Herblay,  you  know  that  each  word  from  you  is  a 
germ  which  fructifies  in  my  thoughts.  I will  go  to  the 
Louvre.” 

“ Instantly,  will  you  not  ? ” 

“ I ask  time  only  to  change  my  dress.” 

“ Remember  that  D’Artagnan  has  no  need  to  pass 
through  St.  Maude,  but  will  go  straight  to  the  Louvre  ; 
that  is  cutting  off  an  hour  from  the  advance  which 
remains  to  us.” 

“ D’Artagnan  may  have  everything  except  my  English 
horses.  I shall  be  at  the  Louvre  in  twenty-five  minutes  ; ” 
and  without  losing  a second,  Fouquet  gave  orders  for  his 
departure. 

Aramis  had  only  time  to  say  to  him,  “ Return 
as  quickly  as  you  go ; for  I shall  await  you  im- 
patiently.” 

Five  minutes  after,  the  superintendent  was  flying  along 
the  road  to  Paris.  During  this  time  Aramis  desired  to 
be  shown  the  chamber  in  which  Porthos  was  sleeping. 
At  the  door  of  Fouquet’s  cabinet  he  was  folded  in  the 
arms  of  Pellisson,  who  had  just  heard  of  his  arrival,  and 
had  left  his  office  to  see  him.  Aramis  received,  with  that 
frieTidly  dignity  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  assume, 
Pellisson’s  caresses,  which  were  as  respectful  as  they  were 
earnest ; but,  all  at  once,  stopping  on  the  landing-place, 
“ What  is  that  I hear  up  yonder  1 ” he  demanded. 

There  was,  in  fact;  a hoarse,  growling  kind  of  noise, 
like  the  roar  of  a hungry  tiger  or  an  impatient  lion. 


D'ARTAGNAN,  P ORTHOS,  AND  ARAMIS. 


247 


“ Oh,  that  is  nothing,' ” said  Pellisson,  smiling. 

“ Well ; but  — ” 

“ It  is  M.  du  Vallon  snoring.” 

“ Of  course,”  said  Aramis ; “ no  one  but  he  is  capable 
of  making  such  a noise.  Allow  me,  Pellisson,  to  inquire 
if  he  is  in  need  of  anything.” 

“ And  you  will  permit  me  to  accompany  you  % ” 

“ Oh,  certainly  ! ” and  both  entered  the  chamber.  Por- 
thos  was  stretched  upon  a bed,  his  face  violet  rather  than 
red,  his  eyes  swelled,  his  mouth  wide  open.  The  roaring 
which  escaped  from  the  deep  cavities  of  his  chest  made 
the  panes  of  the  windows  vibrate.  To  those  intense  and 
clearly  defined  muscles  starting  from  his  face,  to  his  hair 
matted  with  sweat,  to  the  violent  heaving  of  his  chin  and 
shoulders,  it  was  impossible  to  refuse  a certain  degree  of 
admiration.  Strength  carried  to  that  point  is  almost 
divinity.  The  herculean  legs  and  feet  of  Porthos  had, 
by  swelling,  burst  his  leather  boots ; all  the  strength  of 
his  huge  body  was  converted  into  the  rigidity  of  stone. 
Porthos  moved  no  more  than  does  the  giant  of  granite 
which  reclines  upon  the  plains  of  Agrigentum.  Accord- 
ing to  Pellisson’s  orders,  his  boots  had  been  cut  off,  for 
no  human  power  could  have  pulled  them  off.  Four 
lackeys  had  tried  in  vain,  pulling  at  them  as  if  they  were 
capstans ; and  yet  all  this  did  not  awaken  him.  They 
had  taken  off  his  boots  in  fragments,  and  his  legs  had 
fallen  back  upon  the  bed.  They  had  then  cut  off  the 
rest  of  his  clothes,  and  carried  him  to  a bath,  in  which 
they  let  him  lie  a considerable  time.  They  had  put  on 
him  clean  linen,  and  placed  him  in  a well-warmed  bed, 
— all  this  with  an  amount  of  exertion  and  movement 
which  might  have  roused  a dead  man,  but  which  did 
not  make  Porthos  open  an  eye,  or  interrupt  for  a second 
his  formidable  snoring.  Aramis  on  his  part,  with  his  hard 


248 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  nervous  nature,  armed  with  extraordinary  courage, 
tried  to  outbrave  fatigue,  and  employ  himself  with 
Gourville  and  Pellisson,  but  he  fainted  in  the  chair  in 
which  he  had  persisted  in  remaining.  They  took  him 
up  and  carried  him  into  an  adjoining  room,  where  repose 
upon  a bed  soon  calmed  his  throbbing  brain. 


M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


249 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IN  WHICH  M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 

In  the  mean  time  Fouquet  was  hastening  to  the  Louvre, 
at  the  best  speed  of  his  English  horses. 

The  king  was  employed  with  Colbert.  All  at  once  the 
king  became  thoughtful.  The  two  sentences  of  death  he 
had  signed  on  mounting  his  throne  sometimes  recurred 
to  his  memory ; they  were  two  black  spots  which  be  saw 
with  his  eyes  open,  two  spots  of  blood  which  he  saw 
when  his  eyes  were  closed.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  all  at 
once,  to  the  intendant,  “it  sometimes  seems  to  me  that 
those  two  men  you  made  me  condemn  were  not  very 
great  culprits.” 

“ Sire,  they  were  picked  out  from  the  herd  of  the 
farmers  of  the  revenue,  which  wanted  decimating.” 

“ Picked  out  by  whom  ] ” 

“ By  necessity,  Sire,”  replied  Colbert,  coldly. 

“ Necessity  ! a great  word  ! ” murmured  the  young  king. 

“ A great  goddess,  Sire.” 

“ They  were  devoted  friends  of  the  superintendent, 
were  they  not  ] ” 

“ Yes,  Sire  ; friends  who  would  have  given  their  lives 
for  M.  Fouquet.” 

“ They  have  given  them,  Monsieur,”  said  the  king. 

“ That  is  true ; but  uselessly,  by  good  luck,  — which 
was  not  their  intention.” 

“ How  much  money  had  these  men  fraudulently 
obtained]  ” 


250 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Ten  millions,  perhaps  ; of  which  six  have  been  con- 
fiscated from  their  property.” 

“And  is  that  money  in  my  coffers  ? ” said  the  king, 
with  a certain  air  of  repugnance. 

“It  is  there,  Sire  ; but  this  confiscation,  while  threat- 
ening M.  Fouquet,  has  not  touched  him.” 

“ You  conclude,  then,  M.  Colbert  — ” 

“ That  if  M.  Fouquet  has  raised  against  your  Majesty 
a troop  of  factious  rioters  to  extricate  his  friends  from 
punishment,  he  will  raise  an  army  when  he  shall  have 
to  extricate  himself  from  punishment.” 

The  king  darted  at  his  confidant  one  of  those  looks 
which  resemble  the  ominous  glare  of  a flash  of  lightning, 
one  of  those  looks  which  illuminate  the  darkness  of  the 
deepest  consciences.  “ I am  astonished,”  said  he,  “ that, 
thinking  such  things  of  M.  Fouquet,  you  did  not  come  to 
give  me  your  counsels  thereupon.” 

“Counsels  upon  what,  Sire]” 

“ Tell  me,  in  the  first  place,  clearly  and  precisely,  what 
you  think,  M.  Colbert.” 

“ Upon  what  subject,  Sire  ! ” 

“Upon  the  conduct  of  M.  Fouquet.” 

“I  think,  Sire,  that  M.  Fouquet,  not  satisfied  with  at- 
tracting all  the  money  to  himself,  as  M.  de  Mazarin  did, 
and  by  that  means  depriving  your  Majesty  of  a part  of 
your  power,  still  wishes  to  attract  to  himself  all  the  friends 
of  easy  life  and  pleasures,  — of  what  idlers  call  poetry,  and 
politicians  corruption.  I think  that,  by  holding  the  sub- 
jects of  your  Majesty  in  pay,  he  trespasses  upon  the  royal 
prerogative,  and  cannot,  if  this  continues  so,  be  long  in 
relegating  your  Majesty  among  the  weak  and  obscure.” 

“ How  would  you  designate  all  these  projects,  M. 
Colbertl  ” 

“ The  projects  of  M.  Fouquet,  Sire  ? ” 


M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


251 


“ Yes.” 

“ They  are  called  crimes  of  high  treason.” 

“ And  what  is  done  to  criminals  guilty  of  high  treason  1 ” 
“ They  are  arrested,  tried,  and  punished.” 

“ You  are  quite  sure  that  M.  Fouquet  has  conceived 
the  idea  of  the  crime  you  impute  to  him]  ” 

“ I can  say  more,  Sire  ; there  is  even  a beginning  of 
the  execution  of  it.” 

“ Well,  then,  I return  to  that  which  I was  saying, 
M.  Colbert.” 

“ And  you  were  saying,  Sire  — ” 

“ Give  me  counsel.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Sire ; but,  in  the  first  place,  I have 
something  to  add.” 

“ Speak.” 

“ An  evident,  palpable,  material  proof  of  treason.” 

“ And  what  is  that  ] ” 

“ I have  just  learned  that  M.  Fouquet  is  fortifying 
Belle  Isle-en-Mer.” 

“ Ah,  indeed  ! ” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ Are  you  sure  ] ” 

“ Perfectly.  Do  you  know,  Sire,  what  soldiers  there 
are  at  Belle-Isle  ] ” 

“ No, -upon  my  word.  Do  you!” 

“ I am  ignorant  likewise,  Sire ; I should  therefore  pro- 
pose to  your  Majesty  to  send  somebody  to  Belle-Isle.” 

“ Who]” 

“ Me,  for  instance.” 

“And  what  would  you  do  at  Belle-Isle  ] ” 

“ Inform  myself  whether  it  is  true  that,  after  the  ex- 
ample ot  the  ancient  feudal  lords,  M.  Fouquet  is  fortifying 
his  walls.” 

“ And  with  what  purpose  would  he  do  that  1 ” 


252 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ With  the  purpose  of  defending  himself  some  day 
against  his  king.” 

“ But  if  it  be  thus,  M.  Colbert,”  said  Louis,  u we 
must  immediately  do  as  you  say  ; M.  Fouquet  must  be 
arrested.” 

“That  is  impossible.” 

“ I thought  I had  already  told  you,  Monsieur,  that  I 
suppressed  that  word  in  my  service.” 

“ The  service  of  your  Majesty  cannot  prevent  M.  Fou- 
quet from  being  superintendent-general.” 

“ Well  t ” 

“ And  in  consequence  of  holding  that  post,  he  has  for 
him  all  the  parliament,  as  he  has  all  the  army  by  his 
largesses,  all  literature  by  his  favors,  and  all  the  nobility 
by  his  presents.” 

“ That  is  to  say,  then,  that  I can  do  nothing  against 
M.  Fouquet]” 

“ Absolutely  nothing,  — at  least  at  present,  Sire.” 
“You  are  an  unfruitful  counsellor,  M.  Colbert.” 

“ Oh,  no,  Sire,  for  I will  not  confine  myself  to  pointing- 
out  the  peril  to  your  Majesty.” 

“ Come,  then,  where  shall  we  begin  to  undermine  the 
Colossus  ] Let  us  see  ; ” and  his  Majesty  began  to  laugh 
with  bitterness. 

“ He  has  grown  great  by  money ; kill  him  by  money, 
Sire.” 

“ If  I were  to  deprive  him  of  his  charge]” 

“ A bad  means,  Sire.” 

“ The  good  — the  good,  then  ] ” 

“ Ruin  him,  Sire,  I tell  you.” 

“ But  how  ] ” 

“ Occasions  will  not  be  wanting ; take  advantage  of  all 
occasions.” 

“Point  them  out  to  me.” 


M,  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


253 


“Here  is  one,  first  of  all.  His  royal  Highness  Monsieur 
is  about  to  be  married  ; his  nuptials  must  be  magnificent. 
That  is  a good  occasion  for  your  Majesty  to  demand  a 
million  of  M.  Fouquet.  M.  Fouquet,  who  pays  twenty 
thousand  livres  down  when  he  need  not  pay  more  than 
five  thousand,  will  easily  find  that  million  when  your 
Majesty  shall  demand  it,.” 

“ That  is  all  very  well ; I will  demand  it,”  said  Louis. 

u If  your  Majesty  will  sign  the  order,  I will  have  the 
money  drawn  myself ; ” and  Colbert  pushed  a paper  be- 
fore the  king,  and  handed  him  a pen. 

At  that  moment  the  usher  opened  the  door  and  an- 
nounced Monsieur  the  Superintendent.  Louis  turned  pale. 
Colbert  let  the  pen  fall,  and  drew  back  from  the  king, 
over  whom  he  extended  his  black  wings  like  a bad  angel. 
The  superintendent  made  his  entrance  like  a true  courtier, 
to  whom  a single  glance  was  sufficient  to  make  him  ap- 
preciate a situation.  This  situation  was  not  very  encour- 
aging for  Fouquet,  whatever  might  be  the  consciousness 
of  his  strength.  The  small  black  eye  of  Colbert  dilated 
with  envy,  and  the  clear  eye  of  Louis  XIV.  inflamed  with 
anger  indicated  a pressing  danger.  Courtiers  are,  with 
regard  to  court  rumors,  like  old  soldiers,  who  distinguish 
through  blasts  of  wind  and  the  moaning  of  boughs  the 
sound  of  the  distant  tread  of  an  armed  troop.  They  can, 
after  having  listened,  tell  pretty  nearly  how  many  men 
are  marching,  how  many  arms  resound,  how  many  can- 
non roll.  Fouquet  had  then  only  to  interrogate  the 
silence  which  his  arrival  had  produced ; he  found  it  big 
with  menacing  revelations. 

The  king  allowed  him  time  enough  to  advance  as  far 
as  the  middle  of  the  chamber.  His  adolescent  modesty 
constrained  him  to  this  momentary  forbearance.  Fouquet 
boldly  seized  the  opportunity. 


254 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Sire,”  said  he,  “ I was  impatient  to  see-your  Majesty.' ’ 
“ What  for  'l  ” demanded  Louis. 

“ To  announce  some  good  news  to  you.” 

Colbert,  with  a less  imposing  presence  and  less  genial- 
ity of  spirit,  resembled  Fouquet  in  many  points.  He  had 
the  same  penetration,  the  same  knowledge  of  men ; he 
had,  moreover,  that  great  power  of  self-restraint  which 
gives  to  hypocrites  time  to  reflect  and  gather  themselves 
up  to  take  a spring.  He  guessed  that  Fouquet  was  going 
to  meet  the  blow  he  was  about  to  deal  him.  His  eyes 
sparkled. 

“ What  news  1 ” asked  the  king.  Fouquet  placed  a roll 
of  papers  on  the  table. 

“ Let  your  Majesty  have  the  goodness  to  cast  your 
eyes  over  this  work,”  said  he. 

The  king  slowly  unfolded  the  roll.  “ Plans  1 ” said  he. 
“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ And  what  are  these  plans  1 ” 

“ A new  fortification,  Sire.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  king,  “ you  occupy  yourself  with  tactics 
and  strategy,  then,  M.  Fouquet  1” 

“ I occupy  myself  with  everything  that  may  be  useful 
to  the  reign  of  your  Majesty,”  replied  Fouquet. 

“ Beautiful  drawings  ! ” said  the  king,  looking  at  the 
design. 

“ Your  Majesty  comprehends,  without  doubt,”  said 
Fouquet,  bending  over  the  paper;  “here  is  the  circle  of 
the  walls,  here  are  the  forts,  there  the  advanced  works.” 

“ And  what  do  I see  here,  Monsieur  ] ” 

“ The  sea.” 

“ The  sea  all  round  'l  ” 

“Yes,  Sire.” 

“ And  what  is  this  place  of  which  you  show  me  the 


M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


255 


“Sire,  it  is  Belle-Isle-en-Mer,”  replied  Fouquet,  with 
simplicity. 

At  this  word,  at  this  name,  Colbert  made  so  marked  a 
movement  that  the  king  turned  round  to  enforce  the 
necessity  of  reserve.  Fouquet  did  not  appear  to  be  the 
least  in  the  world  concerned  by  the  movement  of  Col- 
bert, nor  the  king’s  signal. 

“ Monsieur, ” continued  Louis,  “you  have,  then,  fortified 
Belle-Isle  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Sire ; and  I have  brought  the  plan  and  the  ac- 
counts to  your  Majesty, ” replied  Fouquet.  “ I have  ex- 
pended sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres  in  this  operation. ” 
“For  what  purpose?”  replied  Louis,  coldly,  having 
taken  the  initiative  from  a malicious  look  of  the  intendant. 

“For  an  aim  very  easy  to  comprehend,’ ’ replied  Fou- 
quet. “ Your  Majesty  was  not  on  good  terms  with  Great 
Britain.” 

“ Yes  ; but  since  the  restoration  of  King  Charles  II.,  I 
have  formed  an  alliance  with  him.” 

“ That  has  taken  place  within  a month’s  time,  your  Maj- 
esty ; but  it  is  more  than  six  months  since  the  fortifica- 
tions of  Belle-Isle  were  begun.” 

“ Then  they  have  become  useless.” 

“ Sire,  fortifications  are  never  useless.  I fortified  Belle- 
Isle  against  Messieurs  Monk  and  Lambert,  and  all  those 
London  citizens  who  were  playing  at  soldiers.  Belle-Isle 
will  be  ready  fortified  against  the  Dutch,  against  whom 
either  England  or  your  Majesty  cannot  fail  to  make  war.” 
The  king  was  again  silent,  and  looked  askance  at  Col- 
bert. “ Belle-Isle,  I believe,”  added  Louis,  “ belongs  to 
you,  M.  Fouquet  ? ” 

“ No,  Sire.” 

“ To  whom,  then?  ” 

“To  your  Majesty.” 


256 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Colbert  was  seized  with  as  much  terror  as  if  a gulf  had 
opened  beneath  his  feet.  Louis  started  with  admiration, 
either  at  the  genius  or  at  the  devotion  of  Fouquet. 

“ Explain  yourself,  Monsieur,”  said  he. 

“ Nothing  more  easy,  Sire.  Belle-Isle  is  one  of  my 
estates ; I have  fortified  it  at  my  own  expense.  But  as 
nothing  in  the  world  can  oppose  a subject  making  an 
humble  present  to  his  king,  I offer  your  Majesty  the  pro- 
prietorship of  the  estate,  of  which  you  will  leave  me  the 
usufruct.  Belle-Isle,  as  a place  of  war,  ought  to  be  occu- 
pied by  the  king.  Your  Majesty  will  be  able,  henceforth, 
to  keep  a safe  garrison  there.” 

Colbert  almost  sank  down  upon  the  floor.  To  keep 
himself  from  falling,  he  was  obliged  to  hold  by  the  col- 
umns of  the  wainscoting. 

“ This  is  a piece  of  great  skill  in  the  art  of  war  that 
you  have  exhibited  here,  Monsieur/’  said  Louis. 

“ Sire,  the  initiative  did  not  come  from  me,”  replied 
Fouquet;  “ many  officers  have  suggested  it  to  me.  The 
plans  themselves  have  been  made  by  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished engineers.” 

“ His  name  ? ” 

“ M.  du  Vallon.” 

“ M.  du  Vallon'?”  resumed  Louis.  “I  do  not  know 
him.  It  is  much  to  be  lamented,  M.  Colbert,”  contin- 
ued he,  “ that  I do  not  know  the  names  of  the  men  of 
talent  who  do  honor  to  my  reign.”  While  saying  these 
words  he  turned  towards  Colbert.  The  latter  felt  him- 
self crushed.  The  sweat  flowed  from  his  brow ; not  a 
single  word  presented  itself  to  his  lips  ; he  was  in  unut- 
terable tortures.  “ You  will  recollect  that  name,”  added 
Louis. 

Colbert  bowed,  but  was  paler  than  his  ruffles  of  Flemish 
lace. 


M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


257 


Fouquet  continued  : “ The  masonries  are  of  Roman 
mastic ; the  architects  have  composed  it  for  me  after  the 
best  examples  of  antiquity.” 

“ And  the  cannon  V9  asked  Louis. 

“ Oh,  Sire,  that  concerns  your  Majesty ; it  did  not  be- 
come me  to  place  cannon  in  my  own  house,  until  your 
Majesty  had  told  me  it  was  yours.” 

Louis  began  to  waver,  undetermined  between  the 
hatred  which  this  so  powerful  man  inspired  him  with, 
and  the  pity  he  felt  for  that  other  man,  so  cast  down, 
who  seemed  to  him  the  counterfeit  of  the  former.  But 
the  consciousness  of  his  kingly  duty  prevailed  over  the 
feelings  of  the  man,  and  he  stretched  out  his  finger  to 
the  paper. 

“ It  must  have  cost  you  a great  deal  of  money  to  carry 
these  plans  into  execution,”  said  he. 

“ I believe  I had  the  honor  of  telling  your  Majesty  the 
amount  ] ” 

“ Repeat  it,  if  you  please  ; I have  forgotten  it.” 

“ Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres.” 

“ Sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres  1 You  are  enormously 
rich,  Monsieur.” 

“It  is  your  Majesty  who  is  rich,  since  Belle-Isle  is 
yours.” 

“Yes,  thank  you  ; but  however  rich  I may  be,  M.  Fou- 
quet — ” The  king  stopped. 

“ Well,  Sire  1 ” asked  the  superintendent. 

“ I foresee  the  moment  when  I shall  want  money.” 

“ You,  Sire  ] And  at  what  moment,  then  1 ” 
“To-morrow,  for  example.” 

“Will  your  Majesty  do  me  the  honor  to  explain 
yourself  V9 

“ My  brother  is  going  to  marry  the  Princess  of  England.” 
“Well,  Sire  1 ” 

VOL.  IT.  — 17 


258  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

“ Well,  I ought  to  give  the  young  princess  a recep- 
tion worthy  of  the  granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.” 

“ That  is  but  just,  Sire.” 

“ Then  I shall  want  money.” 

“ No  doubt.” 

“ I shall  want  — ” Louis  hesitated.  The  sum  that 
he  was  going  to  demand  was  the  same  that  he  had  been 
obliged  to  refuse  Charles  II.  He  turned  towards  Colbert, 
that  he  might  give  the  blow. 

“ I shall  want,  to-morrow  — 99  repeated  he,  looking  at 
Colbert. 

“ A million,”  said  the  latter,  bluntly,  delighted  to  take 
his  revenge. 

Fouquet  turned  his  back  on  the  intendant  to  listen  to 
the  king.  He  did  not  turn  round  at  all,  but  waited  till 
the  king  repeated,  or  rather  murmured,  a A million.” 

“ Oh,  Sire,”  replied  Fouquet,  disdainfully,  “a  million  ! 
What  will  your  Majesty  do  with  a million  ? ” 

“ It  appears  to  me,  nevertheless  — ” said  Louis. 

“That  is  not  more  than  is  spent  at  the  nuptials  of  one 
of  the  most  petty  princes  of  Germany.” 

“ Monsieur ! ” 

“ Your  Majesty  must  have  two  millions  at  least.  The 
horses  alone  will  run  away  with  five  hundred  thousand 
livres.  I shall  have  the  honor  of  sending  your  Majesty 
sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres  this  evening.” 

“ How  ! ” said  the  king,  “ sixteen  hundred  thousand 
livres  1 ” 

“ Look,  Sire,”  replied  Fouquet,  without  even  turning 
towards  Colbert,  “ I know  that  that  wants  four  hundred 
thousand  livres  of  the  two  millions.  But  this  Monsieur 
who  is  intendant,”  pointing  over  his  shoulder  to  Colbert 
behind  him,  who  if  possible  became  still  paler,  “ has  in 
his  coffers  nine  hundred  thousand  livres  of  mine.” 


M.  FOUQUET  ACTS. 


259 


The  king  turned  round  to  look  at  Colbert. 

“ But  — ” said  the  latter. 

“Monsieur,”  continued  Fouquet,  still  speaking  indi- 
rectly to  Colbert,  — “ Monsieur  received,  a week  ago, 
sixteen  hundred  thousand  livres ; he  has  paid  a hundred 
thousand  livres  to  the  Guards,  seventy-five  thousand  livres 
to  the  hospitals,  twenty-five  thousand  to  the  Swiss,  a 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  for  stores,  a thousand  for 
arms,  ten  thousand  for  incidental  expenses.  I do  not  err, 
then,  in  reckoning  upon  nine  hundred  thousand  livres 
that  are  left.”  Then  half  turning  towards  Colbert,  like 
a disdainful  head  of  office  towards  his  inferior,  “ Take 
care,  Monsieur,”  said  he,  “ that  those  nine  hundred 
thousand  livres  be  remitted  to  his  Majesty  this  evening? 
in  gold.” 

“But,”  said  the  king,  “that  will  make  two  million 
five  hundred  thousand  livres.” 

“ Sire,  the  five  hundred  thousand  livres  over  may  serve 
as  pocket-money  for  his  royal  Highness.  You  understand, 
M.  Colbert,  this  evening,  before  eight  o’clock.” 

With  these  words,  bowing  respectfully  to  the  king, 
the  superintendent  made  his  exit  backward,  without 
honoring  with  a single  look  the  envious  man  whose  head 
he  had  just  half  shaved. 

Colbert  tore  his  Flemish  point  to  pieces  in  his  rage, 
and  bit  his  lips  till  they  bled. 

Fouquet  had  not  passed  the  door  of  the  cabinet,  when 
an  usher,  passing  by  him,  called  out,  “ A courier  from 
Bretagne  for  his  Majesty.” 

“ M.  d’Herblay  was  right,”  murmured  Fouquet,  pulling 
out  his  watch  ; “ an  hour  and  fifty-five  minutes.  It  was 
time ! ” 


260 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IN  WHICH  D’ARTAGNAN  AT  LAST  PLACES  HIS  HAND  UPON 
HIS  captain’s  COMMISSION. 

The  reader  guesses  beforehand  whom  the  usher  named 
in  announcing  the  messenger  from  Bretagne.  This  mes- 
senger was  easily  recognized.  It  was  D’Artagnan,  — his 
clothes  dusty,  his  face  inflamed,  his  hair  dripping  with 
sweat,  his  legs  stiff ; he  lifted  his  feet  painfully  the  height 
of  each  step,  upon  which  resounded  the  ring  of  his  bloody 
spurs.  He  perceived,  in  the  doorway  through  which  he 
was  passing,  the  superintendent  coming  out.  Fouquet 
bowed  with  a smile  to  him  who  an  hour  before  was  bring- 
ing him  ruin  and  death.  D’Artagnan  found,  in  his  good- 
ness of  heart  and  in  his  inexhaustible  vigor  of  body, 
enough  presence  of  mind  to  remember  the  kind  recep- 
tion this  man  had  given  him,  and  bowed  also,  much 
more,  however,  from  benevolence  and  compassion  than 
from  respect.  He  felt  upon  his  lips  the  word  which  had  so 
many  times  been  repeated  to  the  Due  de  Guise  : “Fly  ! ” 
But  to  pronounce  that  word  would  have  been  to  betray 
his  cause ; to  speak  that  word  in  the  cabinet  of  the  king 
and  before  an  usher,  would  have  been  to  ruin  himself 
gratuitously  without  saving  anybody.  D’Artagnan,  then, 
contented  himself  with  bowing  to  Fouquet,  and  entered. 

At  this  moment  the  king  was  fluctuating  between  the 
joy  the  last  words  of  Fouquet  had  given  him,  and  his 
pleasure  at  the  return  of  D’Artagnan.  Without  being  a 
courtier,  D’Artagnan  had  a glance  as  sure  and  rapid  as 


D’ARTAGNAN  RECEIVES  HIS  COMMISSION.  261 


if  he  had  been  one.  He  read,  on  his  entrance,  heart-con- 
suming humiliation  on  the  countenance  of  Colbert.  He 
even  heard  the  king  say  these  words  to  him  : “ Ah,  M. 
Colbert,  you  have,  then,  nine  hundred  thousand  livres 
belonging  to  the  superintendent  1 ” Colbert,  choking, 
bowed,  but  made  no  reply.  All  this  scene  entered  into 
the  mind  of  D’Artagnan  through  his  eyes  and  ears  at 
once. 

The  first  word  of  Louis  XI V.  to  his  musketeer,  as  if  he 
wished  it  to  be  in  contrast  with  what  he  had  just  been 
saying,  was  a kind  “ Good-day ; ” his  second  word  was 
to  send  away  Colbert. 

The  latter  left  the  king’s  cabinet  livid  and  tottering, 
while  D’Artagnan  twisted  up  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 

“I  love  to  see  one  of  my  servants  in  this  disorder,” 
said  the  king,  admiring  the  martial  stains  upon  the 
clothes  of  his  envoy. 

“I  thought,  Sire,  my  presence  at  the  Louvre  was  suffi- 
ciently urgent  to  excuse  my  coming  thus  before  you.” 

“ You  bring  me  great  news,  then,  Monsieur  1 ” asked  the 
king,  smiling. 

“ Sire,  the  thing  is  this,  in  two  words  : Belle-Isle  is 
fortified,  admirably  fortified.  Belle-Isle  has  a double 
enceinte , a citadel,  two  detached  forts  ; its  port  contains 
three  corsairs,  and  the  side  batteries  only  wait  for  their 
cannon.” 

‘‘I  know  all  that,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  king. 

• “ What ! your  Majesty  knows  all  thatH’  replied  the 
musketeer,  stupefied. 

“ I have  the  plan  of  the  fortifications  of  Belle-Isle,” 
said  the  king. 

“ Your  Majesty  has  the  plan  % ” 

“ Here  it  is.” 

“It  is  really  it,  Sire ; and  I saw  a similar  one  on  the 


262 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


spot.”  The  brow  of  D’Artagnan  became  clouded.  “ Ah  ! 
I understand  all.  Your  Majesty  has  not  trusted  to  me 
alone,  but  has  sent  some  other  person,”  said  he,  in  a 
reproachful  tone. 

“ Of  what  importance  is  the  manner,  Monsieur,  in  which 
I have  learned  what  I know,  so  that  I know  it  ? ” 

“Be  it  so,  Sire,”  replied  the  musketeer,  without  seek- 
ing even  to  conceal  his  dissatisfaction;  “but  I must  be 
permitted  to  say  to  your  Majesty  that  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  make  me  use  such  speed,  to  risk  twenty  times 
breaking  my  neck,  if  you  are  to  salute  me  with  such  in- 
telligence on  my  arrival.  Sire,  when  people  are  not 
trusted  or  are  deemed  insufficient,  they  should  not  be 
employed ; ” and  D’Artagnan,  with  a movement  quite 
military,  stamped  with  his  foot,  and  left  upon  the  floor 
dust  stained  with  blood. 

The  king  looked  at  him,  inwardly  enjoying  his  first 
triumph.  “ Monsieur,”  said  he,  at  the  expiration  of  a 
minute,  “ not  only  is  Belle-Isle  known  to  me,  but,  still 
further,  Belle-Isle  belongs  to  me.” 

“ That  is  well,  that  is  well,  Sire  ! I ask  no  more,”  replied 
D’Artagnan.  “ My  discharge  ! ” 

“ What ! your  discharge  1 ” 

“ Certainly  ! I am  too  proud  to  eat  the  bread  of  the 
king  without  gaining  it,  or  rather  by  gaining  it  badly. 
My  discharge,  Sire  ! ” 

“ Oh,  oh  ! ” 

“ My  discharge,  or  I shall  take  it.” 

“ You  are  angry,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ I have  reason,  mordioux  ! I am  thirty-two  hours  in 
the  saddle,  I ride  night  and  day,  I perform  prodigies  of 
speed,  I arrive  stiff  as  the  corpse  of  a man  who  has  been 
hanged  ; and  another  arrives  before  me  ! Come,  Sire,  I 
am  a fool ! My  discharge,  Sire  ! ” 


D’ARTAGNAN  RECEIVES  HIS  COMMISSION. 


263 


“ M.  d’Artagnan,”  said  Louis,  resting  his  white  hand 
upon  the  dusty  arm  of  the  musketeer,  “ what  I have  just 
told  you  will  not  at  all  affect  what  I promised  you.  A 
promise  given  must  be  fulfilled  ; ” and  the  young  king, 
going  straight  to  his  table,  opened  a drawer  and  took  out 
a folded  paper.  “ Here  is  your  commission  of  captain  of 
Musketeers ; you  have  won  it,  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

D’Artagnan  opened  the  paper  eagerly,  and  looked  at  it 
twice.  He  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes. 

“ And  this  commission  is  given  you,”  continued  the 
king,  “ not  only  on  account  of  your  journey  to  Belle-Isle, 
but  also  for  your  brave  intervention  at  the  Place  de  Greve. 
There,  likewise,  you  served  me  valiantly.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  his  self-command  being  un- 
able to  prevent  a certain  redness  mounting  up  to  his 
eyes,  “ you  know  that  also,  Sire  ^ ” 

“ Yes,  I know  it.” 

The  king  possessed  a piercing  glance  and  an  infallible 
judgment,  when  it  was  his  object  to  read  a conscience. 
“You  have  something  to  say,”  said  he  to  the  musketeer, 
“ something  to  say  which  you  do  not  say.  Come,  speak 
freely,  Monsieur  ; you  know  that  I told  you,  once  for  all, 
that  you  are  to  be  quite  frank  with  me.” 

“ Well,  Sire  ! what  I have  to  say  is  this,  that  I would 
prefer  being  made  captain  of  Musketeers  for  having 
charged  a battery  at  the  head  of  my  company  or  taken  a 
city,  than  for  causing  two  wretches  to  be  hanged.” 

“ Is  this  quite  true  that  you  tell  me  1 ” 

“And  why  should  your  Majesty  suspect  me  of  dissimu- 
lation, I ask  1 ” 

“ Because  I know  you  well,  Monsieur ; you  cannot  re- 
pent of  having  drawn  your  sword  for  me.” 

“ Well,  in  that  your  Majesty  is  mistaken,  and  greatly. 
Yes,  I do  repent  of  having  drawn  my  sword,  on  account  of 


264 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


the  results  that  action  produced  ; the  poor  men  who  were 
hanged,  Sire,  were  neither  your  enemies  nor  mine,  and 
they  could  not  defend  themselves.” 

The  king  preserved  silence  for  a moment.  “ And 
your  companion,  M.  d’ Art  agnail,  does  he  partake  of  your 
repentance  % ” 

“ My  companion '1  ” 

“ Yes ; you  were  not  alone,  1 have  been  told.” 

“ Alone,  where  1 ” 

“ At  the  Place  de  Greve.” 

“ No,  Sire,  no  ! ” said  D’Artagnan,  blushing  at  the  idea 
that  the  king  might  have  a suspicion  that  he,  D’Artagnan, 
had  wished  to  appropriate  to  himself  the  glory  that  be- 
longed to  Raoul ; “ no,  mordioux  ! and  as  your  Majesty 
says,  I had  a companion,  and  a good  companion  too.” 

“ A young  man  % ” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  a young  man.  Oh  ! your  Majesty  must 
accept  my  compliments ; you  are  as  well  informed  of 
things  out  of  doors  as  of  things  within.  It  is  M.  Colbert 
who  makes  all  these  fine  reports  to  the  king.” 

“ M.  Colbert  has  said  nothing  but  good  of  you,  M. 
d’Artagnan,  and  he  would  have  met  with  a bad  reception 
if  he  had  come  to  tell  me  anything  else.” 

“That  is  fortunate.” 

“ But  he  also  said  much  good  of  that  young  man.” 
“And  with  justice,”  said  the  musketeer. 

“ In  short,  it  appears  that  this  young  man  is  a hero,” 
said  Louis,  in  order  to  quicken  the  sentiment  which  he 
mistook  for  envy. 

“ A hero  ! Yes,  Sire,”  repeated  D’Artagnan,  delighted 
on  his  part  to  direct  the  king’s  attention  to  Raoul. 

“ Do  you  know  his  name  1 ” 

“Well,  I think  — ” 

“ You  know  him,  then  ] n 


D’ARTAGNAN  RECEIVES  HIS  COMMISSION. 


265 


“ I have  known  him  nearly  five-and-twenty  years,  She." 

“ Why,  he  is  scarcely  twenty-five  years  old  ! " cried  the 
king. 

“ Well,  then,  Sire,  I have  known  him  ever  since  his 
birth." 

“ Do  you  affirm  that  % " 

“ Sire,"  said  D’Artagnan,  “ your  Majesty  questions  me 
with  a mistrust  in  which  I recognize  another  character 
than  your  own.  M.  Colbert,  who  has  so  well  informed 
you,  has  he  then  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  this  young 
man  is  the  son  of  my  most  intimate  friend  1 " 

“ The  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne  ] " 

“Certainly,  Sire.  The  'father  of  the  Vicomte  de  Bra- 
gelonne is  M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere,  who  so  powerfully  as-  * 
sisted  in  the  restoration  of  King  Charles  II.  Bragelonne 
is  of  a valiant  race,  Sire." 

“ Then  he  is  the  son  of  that  nobleman  who  came  to  me, 
or  rather  to  M.  de  Mazarin,  on  the  part  of  King  Charles 
II.,  to  offer  us  his  alliance  ? " 

“Exactly,  Sire." 

“ And  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  is  also  a hero,  is  he  not  ? " 

“ Sire,  he  is  a man  who  has  drawn  his  sword  more 
times  for  the  king  your  father,  than  there  are  at  present 
days  in  the  happy  life  of  your  Majesty." 

It  was  Louis  XIV.  who  now  bit  his  lip  in  his  turn. 

“ That  is  well,  M.  d’Artagnan,  very  well  ! And  M.  le 
Comte  de  la  Fere  is  your  friend,  you  say  % " 

“For  about  forty  years;  yes,  Sire.  Your  Majesty 
may  see  that  I do  not  speak  to  you  of  yesterday." 

“ Would  you  be  glad  to  see  this  young  man,  M, 
d’Artagnan  ] " 

“ Delighted,  Sire." 

The  king  touched  his  bell,  and  an  usher  appeared. 

“ Call  M.  de  Bragelonne,"  said  the  king. 


266 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BHAGELONNE. 


“ Ah  ! he  is  here]”  said  D’Artagnan. 

“ He  is  on  guard  to-day,  at  the  Louvre,  with  the  coni' 
pany  of  the  gentlemen  of  Monsieur  the  Prince.” 

The  king  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking,  when  Raoul 
presented  himself,  and  on  seeing  D’Artagnan  smiled  on 
him  with  that  charming  smile  which  is  found  only  upon 
the  lips  of  youth. 

“ Come,  come,”  said  D’Artagnan,  familiarly,  to  Raoul, 
“ the  king  will  allow  you  to  embrace  me ; only  tell  his 
Majesty  you  thank  him.” 

Raoul  bowed  so  gracefully  that  Louis,  to  whom  all 
superior  qualities  were  pleasing  when  they  did  not  imply 
anything  against  his  own,  admired  his  beauty,  strength, 
and  modesty. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  the  king,  addressing  Raoul,  “ I have 
asked  Monsieur  the  Prince  to  be  kind  enough  to  give  you 
up  to  me ; I have  received  his  reply,  and  you  belong  to 
me  from  this  morning.  Monsieur  the  Prince  was  a good 
master,  but  I hope  you  will  not  lose  by  the  change.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  Raoul,  be  satisfied  ; the  king  has  some  good 
in  him,”  said  D’Artagnan,  who  had  fathomed  the  char- 
acter of  Louis,  and  who  played  with  his  self-love  within 
certain  limits;  always  observing,  be  it  understood,  the 
proprieties,  and  flattering  even  when  he  appeared  to  be 
bantering. 

“ Sire,”  said  Bragelonne,  with  a voice  soft  and  musical, 
and  with  the  natural  and  easy  elocution  he  inherited 
from  his  father,  — “ Sire,  it  is  not  from  to-day  only  that 
I belong  to  your  Majesty.” 

“ Oh  ! I know,”  said  the  king;  “you  mean  your  enter- 
prise of  the  Place  de  Greve.  That  day  you  were  truly 
mine,  Monsieur.” 

“ Sire,  it  is  not  of  that  day  I would  speak ; it  would 
not  become  me  to  refer  to  so  paltry  a service  in  the 


D’ARTAGNAN  RECEIVES  HIS  COMMISSION.  2G7 

presence  of  a man  like  M.  d’Artagnan.  I would  speak 
of  a circumstance  which  created  an  epoch  in  my  life,  and 
which  consecrated  me,  from  the  age  of  sixteen,  to  the 
devoted  service  of  your  Majesty.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  the  king,  “ and  what  is  that  circumstance  1 
Tell  me,  Monsieur.” 

“ This  is  it,  Sire.  When  I was  setting  out  on  my  first 
campaign, — that  is  to  say,  to  join  the  army  of  Monsieur  the 
Prince,  — M.  le  Comte  de  la  Fere  came  to  conduct  me  as 
far  as  St.  Denis,  where  the  remains  of  King  Louis  XIII. 
await,  upon  the  lowest  steps  of  the  funereal  basilica,  a suc- 
cessor, — whom  God  will  not  send  him,  I hope,  for  many 
years.  Then  he  made  me  swear,  upon  the  ashes  of  our 
masters,  to  serve  royalty,  represented  by  you,  — incarnate 
in  you,  Sire,  — to  serve  it  in  word,  in  thought,  and  in 
deed.  I swore ; and  God  and  the  dead  were  witnesses  to 
my  oath.  During  ten  years,  Sire,  I have  not  so  often  as 
I desired  had  occasion  to  keep  it.  I am  a soldier  of  your 
Majesty,  and  nothing  else ; and  on  calling  me  nearer 
to  you,  I do  not  change  my  master,  I only  change  my 
garrison.”  v 

Raoul  was  silent,  and  bowed.  Louisf  still  listened  after 
he  had  done  speaking. 

“ Mordioux  ! ” cried  D’Artagnan,  “ that  is  well  spoken, 
is  it  not,  your  Majesty  ! A good  race  ! a noble  race  ! ” 

“ Yes,”  murmured  the  agitated  king,  without,  however, 
daring  to  manifest  his  emotion,  for  it  had  no  other  cause 
than  the  contact  with  a nature  eminently  noble,  — “ yes, 
Monsieur,  you  say  truly ; wherever  you  were,  you  were 
the  king’s.  But  in  changing  your  garrison,  believe  me, 
you  will  find  an  advancement  of  which  you  are  worthy.” 
Raoul  saw  that  this  ended  what  the  king  had  wished 
to  say  to  him  ; and  with  the  perfect  tact  which  charac- 
terized his  refined  nature,  he  bowed  and  retired. 


268 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Is  there  anything  else,  Monsieur,  of  which  you  have 
to  inform  me  ? ” said  the  king,  when  he  found  himself 
again  alone  with  D’Artagnan. 

“Yes,  Sire  ; and  I kept  that  news  for  the  last,  for  it  is 
sad,  and  will  clothe  European  royalty  in  mournitig.” 

“ What  do  you  tell  me  ? ” 

“ Sire,  in  passing  through  Blois,  a word,  a sad  word, 
echoed  from  the  palace,  struck  my  ear.” 

“ In  truth  you  terrify  me,  M.  d’Artagnan  ! ” 

“ Sire,  this  word  was  uttered  to  me  by  an  outrider,  who 
wore  crape  on  his  arm.” 

“ My  uncle,  Gaston  of  Orleans,  perhaps  ? ” 

“ Sire,  he  has  rendered  his  last  sigh.” 

“ And  I was  not  told  of  it  ! ” cried  the  king,  whose 
royal  susceptibility  saw  an  insult  in  the  absence  of  this 
intelligence. 

“ Oh,  do  not  be  angry,  Sire!”  said  D’Artagnan.  “Nei-  . 
ther  the  couriers  of  Paris,  nor  the  couriers  of  the  whole 
world,  can  travel  like  your  servant.  The  courier  from 
Blois  will  not  be  here  these  two  hours ; and  he  rides  well, 

I assure  you,  seeing  that  I passed  him  only  on  the  other 
side  of  Orleans.”  ' 

“My  uncle  Gaston,”  murmured  Louis,  pressing  his 
hand  to  his  brow,  and  compressing  in  those  three  words 
all  that  his  memory  recalled  of  that  name  and  all  his 
mingled  feelings. 

“ Eh  ! yes,  Sire,  it  is  thus,”  said  D’Artagnan,  philo- 
sophically replying  to  the  royal  thought,  “ that  the  past 
flies  away.” 

“ That  is  true,  Monsieur,  that  is  true ; but  there  re- 
mains for  us,  thank  God ! the  future,  and  we  will  try  to 
make  it  not  too  dark.” 

“ I feel  confidence  in  your  Majesty  on  that  head,”  said 
D’Artagnan,  bowing;  “and  now  — ” 


O’ARTAGNAN  RECEIVES  HIS  COMMISSION.  269 

“ You  are  right,  Monsieur ; I had  forgotten  the  hun- 
dred and  ten  leagues  you  have  just  ridden.  Go,  Mon- 
sieur, take  care  of  one  of  the  best  of  soldiers  ; and  when 
you  have  rested  a little,  come  and  place  yourself  at  my 
orders.” 

“ Sire,  absent  or  present,  I always  am  so.” 

D’Artagnan  bowed  and  retired.  Then,  as  if  he  had 
only  come  from  Fontainebleau,  he  quickly  traversed  the 
Louvre  to  rejoin  Bragelonne.  • 


270 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  PBAGFI.ONKE. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A LOVER  AND  A MISTRESS. 

While  the  wax-lights  were  burning  in  the  castle  of  Blois 
around  the  inanimate  body  of  Gaston  of  Orleans,  that  last 
representative  of  the  past ; while  the  people  of  the  city 
were  composing  his  epitaph,  which  was  far  from  being  a 
panegyric  ; while  Madame  the  dowager,  no  longer  remem- 
bering that  in  her  young  days  she  had  loved  that  sense- 
less corpse  to  such  a degree  as  to  flee  from  the  paternal 
palace  fcr  his  sake,  was  making,  within  twenty  paces  of  the 
funeral  apartment,  her  little  calculations  of  interest  and 
her  little  sacrifices  of  pride,  — other  interests  and  other 
prides  were  in  agitation  in  all  the  parts  of  the  castle  into 
which  a living  soul  could  penetrate.  Neither  the  lugu- 
brious sound  of  the  bells,  nor  the  voices  of  the  chanters, 
nor  the  splendor  of  the  wax- lights  through  the  windows, 
nor  the  preparations  for  the  funeral,  had  the  power  to  di- 
vert the  attention  of  two  persons,  placed  at  a window  of 
the  inner  court,  — a window  which  we  are  already  ac- 
quainted with,  and  which  lighted  a chamber  forming 
part  of  what  were  called  the  little  apartments.  For  the 
rest,  a joyous  beam  of  sunlight, — for  the  sun  appeared 
to  care  very  little  for  the  loss  France  had  just  suffered,  — 
a sunbeam,  we  say,  descended  upon  them,  drawing  per- 
fumes from  the  neighboring  flowers,  and  animating  the 
walls  themselves.  These  two  persons,  so  occupied,  not  by 
the  death  of  the  duke,  but  by  the  conversation  which  was 
the  consequence  of  that  death,  — these  two  persons  were  a 
young  woman  and  a young  man.  The  latter  personage  — 


A LOVER  AND  A MISTRESS. 


27! 


a man  of  from  twenty-five  to  twenty-six  years  of  age,  with 
a mien  sometimes  lively  and  sometimes  sly,  making  good 
use  of  two  immensely  large  eyes,  shaded  with  long  eye- 
lashes— was  short  of  stature  and  brown  of  skin  ; he  smiled 
with  an  enormous  but  well-furnished  mouth,  and  his 
pointed  chin,  which  appeared  to  enjoy  a mobility  which 
Nature  does  not  ordinarily  grant  to  that  portion  of  the 
countenance,  approached  from  time  to  time  very  lovingly 
towards  his  companion,  who,  we  must  say,  did  not  always 
draw  back  so  rapidly  as  strict  propriety  might  require. 
The  young  girl,  — we  know  her,  for  we  have  already  seen 
her,  at  that  very  same  window,  by  the  light  of  that  same 
sun,  — the  young  girl  presented  a singular  mixture  of 
slyness  and  reflection.  She  was  charming  when  she 
laughed,  beautiful  when  she  became  serious ; but  let  us 
hasten  to  say  she  was  more  frequently  charming  than 
beautiful.  The  two  persons  appeared  to  have  attained 
the  culminating  point  of  a discussion  half  bantering, 
half  serious. 

“ Now,  M.  Malicorne,”  said  the  young  girl,  “ does  it,  at 
length,  please  you  that  we  should  talk  reasonably  ” 

“ You  believe  that  that  is  very  easy,  Mademoiselle 
Aure,”  replied  the  young  man.  “ To  do  what  we  like, 
when  we  can  only  do  what  we  can  — ” 

“ Good  ! there  he  is,  bewildered  in  his  phrases.” 

“ Who,  I i ” 

“ Yes,  you  ; leave  that  lawyers9  logic,  my  dear.’9 
“ Another  impossibility ; I am  a clerk,  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais.” 

“ And  I am  a lady,  M.  Malicorne.” 

“ Alas ! I know  it  well,  and  you  overwhelm  me  by  the 
distance ; so  I will  say  no  more  to  you.” 

“'Well,  but,  no,  I don’t  overwhelm  you  ; say  what  you 
have  to  tell  me,  — say  it,  I insist  upon  it.” 


272 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Well,  I obey  you.” 

“ That  is  truly  fortunate.” 

“ Monsieur  is  dead.’’ 

“Ah,  peste!  there’s  news!  And  where  do  you  come 
from,  to  be  able  to  tell  us  that  'S  ” 

“ I come  from  Orleans,  Mademoiselle.” 

“ And  is  that  all  the  news  you  bring  ] ” 

“ Oh,  no  ; I come  to  tell  you  that  Madame  Henrietta  of 
England  is  coming  to  marry  his  Majesty’s  brother.” 

“ Indeed,  Malicorne,  you  are  insupportable  with  your 
news  of  the  last  century.  Now,  mind,  if  you  persist  in 
this  bad  habit  of  laughing  at  people,  I will  have  you 
turned  out.” 

“ Oh  ! ” 

“ Yes  ; for  really  you  exasperate  me.” 

“ There,  there  ! Patience,  Mademoiselle  ! ” 

“ You  want  to  make  yourself  of  consequence ; I know 
well  enough  why.” 

“Tell  me,  and  I will  answer  you  frankly  yes,  if  the 
thing  be  true.” 

“ You  know  that  I am  anxious  to  have  that  commission 
of  lady  of  honor,  which  I have  been  foolish  enough  to  ask 
of  you,  and  you  do  not  use  your  influence.” 

“ Who,  I?”  Malicorne  cast  down  his  eyes,  clasped 
his  hands,  and  assumed  his  cunning  air.  “And  what 
credit  can  the  poor  clerk  of  a public  prosecutor  have, 
pray  1 ” 

“Your  father  has  not  twenty  thousand  livres  a year 
for  nothing,  M.  Malicorne.” 

“ A provincial  fortune,  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais.” 

“ Your  father  is  not  in  the  secrets  of  Monsieur  the 
Prince  for  nothing.” 

“An  advantage  which  is  confined  to  lending  Mon- 
seigneur money.” 


A LOVER  AND  A MISTRESS. 


273 


“ In  a word,  you  are  not  the  most  cunning  young  fellow 
in  the  province  for  nothing  ? ” 

“ You  flatter  me.” 

“Who?  I?” 

“ Yes,  you.” 

“ How  so  ? ” 

“ Since  I maintain  that  I have  no  influence,  and  you 
maintain  that  I have.” 

“ Well,  then,  my  commission  ? ” 

“ Well,  your  commission'?  ” 

“ Shall  I have  it,  or  shall  I not  ? ” 

“ You  shall  have  it.” 

“Ay,  but  when ? ” 

“ When  you  like.” 

“ Where  is  it,  then  ? ” 

“ In  my  pocket.” 

“ How  ! in  your  pocket  ? ” 

“ Yes ; ” and  with  a smile  Malicorne  drew  from  his 
pocket  a letter,  upon  which  Montalais  seized  as  a prey, 
and  which  she  read  with  avidity. 

As  Montalais  read,  her  face  brightened.  “Malicorne,” 
exclaimed  she,  after  having  read  it,  “ in  truth,  you  are  a 
good  lad.” 

“ What  for,  Mademoiselle  1 ” 

“ Because  you  might  have  been  paid  for  this  commission, 
and  you  have  not  been.”  She  burst  into  a loud  laugh, 
thinking  to  put  the  clerk  out  of  countenance  ; but  Mali- 
corne sustained  the  attack  bravely. 

“ I do  not  understand  you,”  said  he.  It  was  now  Mon- 
talais who  was  disconcerted  in  her  turn.  “ I have  declared 
my  sentiments  to  you,”  continued  Malicorne.  “You 
have  told  me  three  times,  laughing  all  the  while,  that 
you  did  not  love  me;  you  have  kissed  me  once  without 
laughing,  and  that  is  all  I want.” 

VOL.  II.  — 18 


274 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ All?”  said  the  proud  and  coquettish  Montalais,  in  a 
tone  through  which  wounded  pride  was  visible. 

“ Absolutely  all,  Mademoiselle,”  replied  Malicorne. 

“ Ah ! ” and  this  monosyllable  indicated  as  much 
anger  as  the  young  man  might  have  expected  gratitude. 
He  shook  his  head  calmly. 

“ Listen,  Montalais,”  said  he,  without  heeding  whether 
that  familiarity  pleased  his  mistress  or  not ; “ let  us  not 
dispute  about  that.” 

“ And  why  not  ? ” 

“ Because  during  the  year  in  which  I have  known  you, 
you  might  have  had  me  turned  out  of  doors  twenty  times 
if  I did  not  please  you.” 

“ Indeed ; and  on  what  account  should  I have  had  you 
turned  out  ? ” 

“ Because  I have  been  sufficiently  impertinent  for  that.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  that ’s  true.” 

“ You  see  plainly  that  you  are  forced  to  avow  it,”  said 
Malicorne. 

“ M.  Malicorne ! ” 

“ Don’t  let  us  be  angry  ; if  you  have  retained  me,  then, 
it  has  not  been  without  cause.” 

“It  is  not,  at  least,  because  I love  you,”  cried  Montalais. 

“ Granted.  I will  even  say  that,  at  this  moment,  1 am 
certain  that  you  execrate  me.” 

“ Oh,  you  have  never  spoken  so  truly.” 

“ Well,  on  my  part,  I detest  you.” 

“ Ah,  I will  remember  that.” 

“Do!  You  find  me  brutal  and  foolish;  on  my  part  I 
find  you  with  a harsh  voice,  and  your  face  distorted  with 
anger.  At  this  moment  you  would  allow  yourself  to  be 
thrown  out  of  that  window  rather  than  allow  me  to  kiss 
the  tip  of  your  finger ; I would  precipitate  myself  from 
the  top  of  the  balcony  rather  than  touch  the  hem  of  your 


A LOVER  AND  A MISTRESS. 


275 


robe.  But  in  five  minutes  you  will  love  me,  and  I shall 
adore  you.  Oh,  it  is  just  so  ! ” 

“ I doubt  it.” 

“ And  I swear  it.” 

“ Coxcomb  ! ” 

“ And  then,  that  is  not  the  true  reason.  You  stand  in 
need  of  me,  Aure,  and  I of  you.  When  it  pleases  you  to 
be  gay,  I make  you  laugh ; when  it  suits  me  to  be  loving, 
I look  at  you.  I have  given  you  a commission  of  lady  of 
honor  which  you  wished  for ; you  will  give  me,  presently, 
something  I wish  for.” 

“ I shall  f ” 

“ Yes,  you  will.  But  at  this  moment,  my  dear  Aure,  I 
declare  to  you  that  I wish  for  absolutely  nothing ; so  be 
at  ease.” 

“ You  are  a frightful  man,  Malicorne ; I was  going  to 
rejoice  at  getting  this  commission,  and  thus  you  take 
away  all  my  joy.” 

“Good;  there  is  no  time  lost, — you  will  rejoice  when 
I am  gone.” 

“ Go,  then  ; and  after  — ” 

“ So  be  it ; but,  in  the  first  place,  a piece  of  advice.” 

“ What  is  it  ^ ” 

“ Keep  your  good  humor ; you  are  ugly  when  you  pout.” 
a Boor  ! ” 

“ Come,  let  us  tell  the  truth  to  each  other,  while  we 
are  about  it.” 

“ Oh,  Malicorne  ! Bad-hearted  man  ! ” 

“ Oh,  Montalais  ! Ungrateful  girl ! ” 

The  young  man  leaned  his  elbow  upon  the  window- 
frame.  Montalais  took  a book  and  opened  it.  Malicorne 
stood  up,  brushed  his  hat  with  his  sleeve,  and  smoothed 
down  his  black  doublet.  Montalais,  though  pretending 
to  read,  looked  at  him  out  of  the  comer  of  her  eye. 


276 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Good  ! ” cried  she,  quite  furious  ; “ he"  has  assumed 
his  respectful  air,  and  he  will  sulk  for  a week.” 

“ A fortnight,  Mademoiselle,”  said  Malicorne,  bowing. 
Montalais  raised  her  little  clenched  fist.  “ Monster  ! ” 
said  she  ; “ oh,  if  I were  a man  ! ” 

“ What  would  you  do  to  me  'l  ” 

“ I would  strangle  you.” 

“Ah!  very  well,  then,”  said  Malicorne;  “I  believe  I 
begin  to  desire  something.” 

“ And  what  do  you  desire,  Monsieur  Demon  ? — that  1 
should  lose  my  soul  from  anger  ! ” 

Malicorne  w’as  twirling  his  hat  respectfully  between  his 
fingers;  but  all  at  once  he  let  fall  his  hat,  seized  the 
young  girl  by  the  shoulders,  pulled  her  towards  him, 
and  applied  to  her  lips  two  other  very  warm  lips  for  a 
man  pretending  to  so  much  indifference.  Aure  would 
have  cried  out,  but  the  cry  was  stifled  in  the  kiss. 
Nervous  and  irritated,  the  young  girl  pushed  Malicorne 
against  the  wall. 

“ Good  ! ” said  Malicorne,  philosophically  ; “ that *s 
enough  for  six  weeks.  Adieu,  Mademoiselle ! Accept 
my  very  humble  salutation ; ” and  he  made  three  steps 
towards  the  door. 

“Well!  no,  you  shall  not  go!”  cried  Montalais, 
stamping  with  her  little  foot.  “ Stay  where  you  are  ! 
I order  you  ! ” 

“ You  order  me  ] ” 

“ Yes ; am  I not  mistress  ? ” 

“Of  my  heart  and  soul,  without  doubt.” 

“ A pretty  property,  in  faith ! The  soul  is  silly  and 
the  heart  hard.” 

“Beware,  Montalais,  I know  you,”  said  Malicorne; 
“you  are  going  to  fall  in  love  with  your  humble  servant.” 
“ Well,  yes  ! ” said  she,  hanging  round  his  neck  with 


A LOVER  AND  A MISTRESS. 


277 


childish  indolence  rather  than  with  loving  abandonment, 

— “ well,  yes  ! for  I must  thank  you,  at  least.” 

“ And  for  what  % ” 

“ For  the  commission ; is  it  not  my  whole  future  ? ” 

“ And  all  mine.” 

Montalais  looked  at  him.  “ It  is  frightful,”  said  she, 
“that  one  can  never  guess  whether  you  are  speaking 
seriously  or  not.” 

“ I cannot  speak  more  seriously.  I was  going  to  Paris, 

— you  are  going  there,  — we  are  going  there.” 

“ And  so  it  is  for  that  motive  only  you  have  served  me, 
selfish  fellow  ! ” 

“ What  would  you  have  me  say,  Aure  1 I cannot  live 
without  you.” 

“ Well,  in  truth,  it  is  just  so  with  me  ; you  are,  never- 
theless, it  must  be  confessed,  a very  bad-hearted  young 
man.” 

“ Aure,  my  dear  Aure,  take  care ! if  you  take  to  call- 
ing names  again,  you  know  the  effect  they  produce  upon 
me,  and  I shall  adore  you  ; ” and  so  saying,  Malicorne 
drew  the  young  girl  a second  time  towards  him.  But  at 
that  instant  a step  resounded  on  the  staircase.  The  young 
people  were  so  close  that  they  would  have  been  surprised 
in  each  other’s  arms  if  Montalais  had  not  violently  pushed 
Malicorne,  who  backed  against  the  door,  just  then  open- 
ing. A loud  cry,  followed  by  angry  reproaches,  was  im- 
mediately heard.  It  was  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  who 
uttered  the  cry  and  proffered  the  angry  words.  The 
unlucky  Malicorne  almost  crushed  her  between  the  wall 
and  the  door  through  which  she  was  coming. 

“ It  is  again  that  good-for-nothing  ! ” cried  the  old  lady. 
“ Always  here  ! ” 

“ Ah,  Madame  ! ” replied  Malicorne,  in  a respectful 
tone;  “it  is  eight  long  days  since  I was  here,” 


278 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

IN  WHICH  AT  LENGTH  THE  TRUE  HEROINE  OF  THIS 
HISTORY  APPEARS. 

Behind  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  came  up  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Valliere.  She  heard  the  explosion  of  maternal 
anger;  and  as  she  divined  the  cause  of  it,  she  entered 
the  room  trembling,  and  perceived  the  unlucky  Mali- 
corne,  whose  woful  countenance  would  have  softened  or 
set  laughing  whoever  might  have  observed  it  coolly.  He 
had  promptly  intrenched  himself  behind  a large  chair,  as  if 
to  avoid  the  first  attacks  of  Madame  de  Saint-Remy.  He 
had  no  hopes  of  prevailing  with  words,  for  she  spoke  louder 
than  he,  and  without  stopping  ; but  he  reckoned  upon 
the  eloquence  of  his  gestures.  The  old  lady  would  neither 
listen  to  nor  see  anything ; Malicorne  had  long  been  one 
of  her  antipathies.  But  her  anger  was  too  great  not  to 
overflow  from  Malicorne  to  his  accomplice.  Montalais 
had  her  turn. 

“ And  you,  Mademoiselle,  — you  may  be  certain  that 
I shall  inform  Madame  of  what  is  going  on  in  the  apart- 
ment of  one  of  her  ladies  of  honor.” 

“ Oh,  dear  mother  ! ” cried  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere, 
“ for  mercy’s  sake,  spare — 19 

“Hold  your  tongue,  Mademoiselle,  and  do  not  uselessly 
trouble  yourself  to  intercede  for  unworthy  subjects.  That 
a virtuous  girl  like  you  should  be  subjected  to  a bad 
example  is,  certainly,  a misfortune  great  enough ; but 


THE  TRUE  HEROINE  APPEARS. 


279 


that  you  should  sanction  it  by  your  indulgence  is  what 
I will  not  allow.” 

“ But,  in  truth,”  said  Montalais,  rebelling  again,  “I  do 
not  know  under  what  pretence  you  treat  me  thus.  I am. 
doing  no  harm,  I suppose  ? ” 

“ And  that  great  good-for-nothing,  Mademoiselle,”  re- 
sumed Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  pointing  to  Malicorne, 
“is  he  here  to  do  any  good,  I ask  you"?  ” 

“ He  is  here  for  neither  good  nor  harm,  Madame  ; he 
comes  to  see  me,  — that  is  all.” 

“ That  is  all  very  well,  all  very  well ! ” said  the  old 
lady.  “ Her  royal  Highness  shall  be  informed  of  it,  and 
she  will  judge.” 

“At  all  events,”  replied  Montalais,  “I  do  not  see 
why  it  should  be  forbidden  that  M.  Malicorne  should 
have  intentions  towards  me,  if  his  intentions  are  hon- 
orable.” 

“ Honorable  intentions  with  such  a face  ! ” cried  Ma- 
dame de  Saint-Remy. 

“ I thank  you,  in  the  name  of  my  face,  Madame,”  said 
Malicorne. 

“ Come,  my  daughter,  come ! ” continued  Madame  de 
Saint-Remy ; “ we  will  go  and  inform  Madame  that  at  the 
very  moment  when  she  is  weeping  for  her  husband,  at  the 
moment  when  we  are  all  weeping  for  a master  in  this  old 
castle  of  Blois,  the  abode  of  grief,  there  are  people  who 
amuse  themselves  and  make  merry.” 

“ Oh  ! ” exclaimed  both  the  accused,  with  one  voice. 

“ A maid  of  honor ! a maid  of  honor ! ” cried  the  old 
lady,  lifting  her  hands  towards  heaven. 

“ Well,  that  is  where  you  are  mistaken,  Madame,”  said 
Montalais,  highly  exasperated ; “ I am  no  longer  a maid 
of  honor,  — of  Madam e’s,  at  least.” 

“ Have  you  given  in  your  resignation,  Mademoiselle  ] 


280 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


That  is  well ! I cannot  but  applaud  such  a determina- 
tion, and  I do  applaud  it.” 

“ I do  not  give  in  my  resignation,  Madame  ; I take 
another  service, — that  is  all.” 

“ In  the  bourgeoisie  or  in  the  robe  ? ” asked  Madame  de 
Saint-Remy,  disdainfully. 

“ Please  to  learn,  Madame,  that  I am  not  a girl  to  serve 
either  bourgeoises  or  robines ; and  that,  instead  of  the 
miserable  court  at  which  you  vegetate,  I am  going  to 
reside  in  a court  almost  royal.” 

“ Ah  ! a royal  court ! ” said  Madame  de  Saint-Remy, 
forcing  a laugh,  — “ a royal  court!  What  think  you  of 
that,  my  daughter?”  and  she  turned  round  towards 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Yalliere,  whom  she  would  by  main 
force  have  dragged  away  from  Montalais,  and  who,  in- 
stead of  obeying  the  impulse  of  Madame  de  Saint-Remy, 
looked  first  at  her  mother  and  then  at  Montalais  with 
her  beautiful  conciliating  eyes. 

“ I did  not  say  a royal  court,  Madame,”  replied  Mon- 
talais, “ because  Madame  Henrietta,  of  England,  who  is 
about  to  become  the  wife  of  his  royal  Highness  Monsieur, 
is  not  a queen.  I said  almost  royal,  and  I spoke  cor- 
rectly, since  she  will  be  sister-in-law  to  the  king.” 

A thunderbolt  falling  upon  the  castle  of  Blois  would 
not  have  astonished  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  as  did  this 
last  sentence  of  Montalais. 

“ What  do  you  say  of  her  royal  Highness  Madame 
Henrietta?”  stammered  the  old  lady. 

“ I say  I am  going  to  belong  to  her  household,  as  maid 
of  honor ; that  is  what  I say.” 

“ As  maid  of  honor ! ” cried  at  the  same  time  Madame 
de  Saint-Remy  with  despair,  and  Mademoiselle  de  la  Yah 
liere  with  delight. 

Yes,  Madame,  as  maid  of  honor.” 


THE  TRUE  HEROINE  APPEARS. 


281 


The  old  lady’s  head  dropped  as  if  the  blow  had  been 
too  severe  for  her;  but  almost  immediately  recovering 
herself,  she  launched  a last  projectile  at  her  adversary. 
“ Oh  ! ” said  she,  “ I have  heard  of  many  of  these  sorts 
of  promises  beforehand,  which  often  lead  people  to  flatter 
themselves  with  wild  hopes,  and  at  the  last  moment, 
when  the  time  comes  to  keep  the  promises  and  have  the 
hopes  realized,  they  are  surprised  to  see  the  great  influ- 
ence upon  which  they  reckoned  reduced  to  smoke.” 

“Oh,  Madame,  the  influence  of  my  patron  is  beyond 
question,  and  his  promises  are  as  good  as  acts.” 

“ And  would  it  be  indiscreet  to  ask  you  the  name  of 
this  powerful  patron  1 ” 

“ Oh,  mon  Dieu  ! no  ; it  is  that  gentleman  there,”  said 
Montalais,  pointing  to  Malicorne,  who  during  all  this 
scene  had  preserved  the  most  imperturbable  coolness  and 
the  most  comic  dignity. 

“Monsieur  ! ” exclaimed  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  with 
an  explosion  of  hilarity,  “ Monsieur  is  your  patron  ! Is 
the  man  whose  influence  is  so  powerful  and  whose  prom- 
ises are  as  good  as  acts,  M.  Malicorne  1 ” 

Malicorne  bowed. 

As  to  Montalais,  her  sole  reply  was  to  draw  the  com- 
mission from  her  pocket,  and  show  it  to  the  old  lady. 
“ Here  is  the  commission,”  said  she^ 

At  once  all  was  over.  As  soon  as  she  had  cast  a 
rapid  glance  over  this  fortunate  brevet,  the  good  lady 
clasped  her  hands,  an  unspeakable  expression  of  envy  and 
despair  contracted  her  countenance,  and  she  was  obliged 
to  sit  down  to  avoid  fainting.  Montalais  was  not  mali- 
cious enough  to  rejoice  extravagantly  at  her  victory,  or  to 
overwhelm  the  conquered  enemy,  particularly  when  that 
enemy  was  the  mother  of  her  friend  ; she  used,  then, 
but  did  not  abuse,  her  triumph.  Malicorne  was  less 


282 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


generous ; he  assumed  noble  attitudes  in  his  arm-chair, 
and  stretched  himself  out  with  a familiarity  which  two 
hours  earlier  would  have  drawn  upon  him  threats  of  a 
caning. 

“Maid  of  honor  to  the*  young  Madame  ! ” repeated 
Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  still  but  half  convinced. 

“Yes,  Madame;  and  through  the  patronage  of  M. 
Malicorne,  moreover.” 

“ It  is  incredible  ! ” repeated  the  old  lady.  “ Is  it  not 
incredible,  Louise'?”  But  Louise  did  not  reply;  she  was 
depressed,  thoughtful,  almost  afflicted.  Passing  one  hand 
over  her  beautiful  brow,  she  sighed  heavily. 

“ Well,  but,  Monsieur,”  said  Madame  de  Saint-Remy, 
all  at  once,  “ how  did  you  manage  to  obtain  this  post  ? ” 

“ I asked  for  it,  Madame.” 

“ Of  whom ! ” 

“ One  of  my  friends.” 

“ And  have  you  friends  sufficiently  powerful  at  court  to 
give  you  such  proofs  of  their  influence  ] ” 

“ It  appears  so.” 

“ And  may  one  ask  the  name  of  these  friends  ? ” 

“ I did  not  say  I had  many  friends,  Madame ; I said  I 
had  one  friend.” 

“ And  that  friend  is  called  — ” 

“ Madame,  you  go  too  far ! When  one  has  a friend  as 
powerful  as  mine,  he  does  not  publish  his  name  in  that 
fashion  in  open  day,  in  order  that  he  may  be  stolen  from 
him.” 

“ You  are  right,  Monsieur,  to  be  silent  as  to  the  name 
of  that  friend ; for  I think  it  would  be  pretty  difficult  for 
you  to  tell  it.” 

“ At  all  events,”  said  Montalais,  “ if  the  friend  does 
not  exist,  the  commission  does ; and  that  cuts  short  the 
question.” 


THE  TRUE  HEROINE  APPEARS. 


283 


“ Then  I conceive,”  said  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  with 
the  gracious  smile  of  a cat  who  is  going  to  scratch,  “ when 
I found  Monsieur  here  just  now  — ” 

“ Weill” 

“ He  brought  you  your  commission.” 

“ Exactly,  Madame ; you  have  guessed  rightly.” 

“ Well,  then,  nothing  can  be  more  moral  or  proper.” 

“ I think  so,  Madame.” 

“ And  I have  been  wrong,  as  it  appears,  in  reproaching 
you,  Mademoiselle.” 

“ Very  wrong,  Madame;  but  I am  so  accustomed  to 
your  reproaches,  that  I pardon  you  these.” 

“In  that  case  let  us  be  gone,  Louise  ; we  have  nothing 
further  to  do  but  to  retire.  Well ! ” 

“Madame!”  said  La  Valliere,  starting,  “did  you 
speak  ] ” 

“ You  do  not  appear  to  listen,  my  child.” 

“No,  Madame,  I was  thinking.” 

“ About  what  h ” 

“ A thousand  things.” 

“ You  bear  me  no  ill-will,  at  least,  Louise  ?”  cried  Mon- 
talais,  pressing  her  hand. 

“ And  why  should  I,  my  dear  Aure  h ” replied  the  girl, 
in  a voice  soft  as  a flute. 

“ Dame  ! ” resumed  Madame  de  Saint-Remy  ; “ if  she 
did  bear  you  a little  ill-will,  poor  girl,  she  could  not  be 
much  blamed.” 

“ And  why  should  she  bear  me  ill-will,  good  heavens  ! ” 

“ It  appears  to  me  that  she  is  of  as  good  a family,  and 
as  pretty  as  you.” 

“ Mother  ! mother  ! ” cried  Louise. 

“ Prettier  a hundred  times,  Madame,  — of  a better 
family,  no  ; but  that  does  not  tell  me  why  Louise  should 
bear  me  ill-will.” 


284 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Do  you  think  it  will  be  very  amusing  for  her  to  be 
buried  alive  at  Blois,  when  you  are  going  to  shine  at 
Paris'?  ” 

“ But,  Madame,  it  is  not  I who  prevent  Louise  follow 
ing  me  thither  ; on  the  contrary,  I should  certainly  be 
most  happy  if  she  came  there.” 

“ But  it  appears  that  M.  Malicorne,  who  is  all-powerful 
at  court  — ” 

“ Ah  ! so  much  the  worse,  Madame  ! ” said  Malicorne  ; 
“ every  one  for  himself  in  this  poor  world.” 

“ Malicorne  ! ” said  Montalais.  Then  stooping  towards 
the  young  man  * “ Engage  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  either 
in  disputing  with  her  or  making  up  with  her  ; I must 
speak  to  Louise;  ” and  at  the  same  time  a soft  pressure 
of  the  hand  recompensed  Malicorne  for  the  obedience 
which  was  to  follow. 

Malicorne  went  grumbling  towards  Madame  de  Saint- 
Remy ; while  Montalais  said  to  her  friend,  throwing  one 
arm  round  her  neck  : “ What  is  the  matter,  say  ] Is  it 
true  that  you  would  not  love  me  if  I were  to  shine,  as 
your  mother  says  ? ” 

“ Oh,  no  ! ” said  the  young  girl,  with  difficulty  restrain- 
ing her  tears ; “ on  the  contrary,  I rejoice  at  your  good 
fortune.” 

“ Rejoice ! why,  one  would  say  you  are  ready  to 
cry  ! ” 

“ Do  people  never  weep  but  from  envy  1 ” 

“ Oh  ! yes,  I understand.  I am  going  to  Paris,  and  that 
word  Paris  recalls  to  your  mind  a certain  cavalier  — ” 

“ Aure  ! ” 

“ A certain  cavalier  who  formerly  lived  near  Blois  and 
who  now  resides  at  Paris.” 

“ In  truth,  I know  not  what  ails  me,  but  I feel  stifled.” 

“ Weep,  then,  weep,  as  you  cannot  give  me  a smile  1 ” 


THE  TRUE  HEROINE  APPEARS. 


285 


Louise  raised  her  sweet  face,  which  the  tears,  rolling 
down  one  after  the  other,  illumined  like  diamonds. 

“ Come,  confess  ! ” said  Montalais. 

“ What  shall  I confess  ? ” 

“ What  makes  you  weep ; people  don’t  weep  without 
a cause.  I am  your  friend ; whatever  you  would  wish 
me  to  do,  I will  do.  Malicorne  is  more  powerful  than 
you  would  think.  Do  you  wish  to  come  to  Paris'?” 

“ Alas  ! ” sighed  Louise. 

“ Do  you  wish  to  come  to  Paris  ? ” 

“ To  remain  here  alone  in  this  old  castle,  T who  have 
enjoyed  the  sweet  habit  of  listening  to  your  songs,  of 
pressing  your  hand,  of  running  about  the  park  with  you  1 
Oh,  how  dull  I shall  be,  how  quickly  I shall  die  ! ” 

“ Do  you  wish  to  come  to  Paris'?” 

Louise  breathed  another  sigh. 

“ You  do  not  answer  me.” 

“ What  would  you  that  I should  answer  you  ? ” 

“ Yes  or  no ; that  is  not  very  difficult,  I think.” 

“ Oh  ! you  are  very  fortunate,  Montalais  ! ” 

“ That  is  to  say  you  would  like  to  be  in  my  place.” 
Louise  was  silent. 

“ Little  obstinate  thing ! ” said  Montalais ; “ did  ever 
any  one  keep  her  secrets  from  her  friend  thus?  But 
confess  that  you  would  like  to  come  to  Paris;  confess 
that  you  are  dying  with  the  wish  to  see  Raoul  again.” 

“ I cannot  confess  that.” 

“ Then  you  are  wrong.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because  — Do  you  see  this  commission  ? ” 

“ To  be  sure  I do.” 

“Well,  I would  have  procured  for  you  one  like  it.” 

“ By  whose  means  ? ” 

“ Malicorne’s.” 


286 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Aure,  do  you  tell  the  truth?  Is  that  possible?  99 
“ Dame  ! Malicorne  is  there ; and  what  he  has  done  for 
me,  he  must  do  for  you.” 

Malicorne  had  heard  his  name  pronounced  twice ; he 
was  delighted  at  having  an  opportunity  to  get  through 
with  Madame  de  Saint-Remy,  and  he  turned  round : 
“ What  is  that,  Mademoiselle  ? ” 

“ Come  hither,  Malicorne!”  said  Montalais,  with  an 
imperious  gesture.  Malicorne  obeyed. 

“ A commission  like  this  ! ” said  Montalais. 

“ How  so?” 

“ A commission  like  this  ; that  is  plain  enough.” 

“ But  — ” 

“ I want  one  ; I must  have  one  ! ” 

“ Oh,  you  must  have  one  ! ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ It  is  impossible,  is  it  not,  M.  Malicorne  ? ” said  Louise, 
with  her  sweet,  soft  voice. 

“ Dame  ! if  it  is  for  you,  Mademoiselle  — ” 

“ For  me.  Yes,  M.  Malicorne,  it  would  be  for  me.” 

“ And  if  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  asks  it  at  the  same 
time  — ” 

“ Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  does  not  ask  it,  she  de- 
mands it.” 

“ Well,  we  will  endeavor  to  obey  you,  Mademoiselle.” 

“ And  you  will  have  her  appointed  ? ” 

“ We  will  try.” 

“ No  evasive  reply.  Louise  de  la  Valliere  shall  be 
maid  of  honor  to  Madame  Henrietta  within  a week.” 

“ How  you  go  on  ! ” 

“ Within  a week,  or  else  — v 
“Well!  or  else  — ” 

u You  may  take  back  your  commission,  M.  Malicorne  ,* 
I will  not  leave  my  friend.” 


THE  TRUE  HEROINE  APREARS. 


287 


“ Dear  Montalais  ! ” 

“ Very  well,  keep  your  commission ; Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere  shall  be  a maid  of  honor.’ 1 
“ Is  that  true  % ” 

“ Quite  true.” 

“ I may  then  hope  to  go  to  Paris  % ” 

“ Depend  upon  it.” 

“ Oh,  M.  Malicorne,  what  goodness ! ” cried  Louise, 
clapping  her  hands  and  bounding  with  joy. 

“ Little  dissembler  ! ” said  Montalais,  “ try  again  to 
make  me  believe  you  are  not  in  love  with  Raoul.” 
Louise  blushed  like  a rose  in  June,  but  instead  of 
replying,  ran  and  kissed  her  mother.  “ Madame,”  said 
she,  u do  you  know  that  M.  Malicorne  is  going  to  have 
me  appointed  maid  of  honor  ] ” 

“ M.  Malicorne  is  a prince  in  disguise,”  replied  the  old 
lady  ; “ he  is  all-powerful.” 

“ Would  you  also  like  to  be  maid  of  honor  ] ” asked 
Malicorne  of  Madame  de  Saint-Remy.  “ While  I am 
about  it,  I might  as  well  get  everybody  appointed  ; ” and 
upon  that  he  went  away,  leaving  the  poor  lady  quite  dis- 
concerted, as  Tallemant  des  Reaux  would  say. 

“ Humph  ! ” murmured  Malicorne,  as  he  descended  the 
stairs,  — “ humph  ! there  is  another  thousand  livres  that 
I must  pay  ; but  I must  get  through  as  well  as  I can.  My 
friend  Manicamp  does  nothing  for  nothing.” 


288 


THE  VI COMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MALICORNE  AND  MANICAMP. 

The  introduction  of  these  two  new  personages  into  this 
history,  and  that  mysterious  affinity  of  names  and  senti- 
ments, merit  some  attention  on  the  part  of  the  historian 
and  the  reader.  We  will  then  enter  into  some  details 
concerning  M.  Malicorne  and  M.  de  Manicamp.  Mali- 
corne,  we  know,  had  made  the  journey  to  Orleans  in 
search  of  the  commission  destined  for  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais,  the  arrival  of  which  had  produced  such  a great 
sensation  at  the  castle  of  Blois.  At  that  moment  M.  de 
Manicamp  was  at  Orleans.  A singular  personage  was 
this  M.  de  Manicamp ; a very  intelligent  young  fellow, 
always  poor,  always  needy,  although  he  dipped  his  hand 
freely  into  the  purse  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche,  one  of 
the  best'furnished  purses  of  the  period.  M.  le  Comte  de 
Guiche  had  had  as  the  companion  of  his  boyhood  this 
Manicamp,  a poor  gentleman  vassal,  born  of  the  house 
of  Grammont.  M.  de  Manicamp,  by  his  intelligence,  had 
created  himself  a revenue  in  the  opulent  family  of  the 
celebrated  marshal.  From  his  infancy  he  had,  by  a cal- 
culation much  in  advance  of  his  age,  lent  his  name  and 
his  complaisance  to  the  follies  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche. 
If  his  noble  companion  had  stolen  some  fruit  destined  for 
Madame  la  Marechale,  if  he  had  broken  a mirror  or  put 
out  a dog’s  eye,  Manicamp  declared  himself  guilty  of 
the  crime  committed,  and  received  the  punishment,  which 
was  not  made  the  milder  for  falling  upon  the  innocent. 


MALICORNE  AND  MANICAMP. 


289 


But  this  system  of  abnegation  was  profitable;  instead  of 
wearing  such  mean  habiliments  as  his  paternal  fortunes 
entitled  him  to,  he  was  able  to  appear  brilliant,  superb, 
like  a young  noble  of  fifty  thousand  livres  a year. 

It  was  not  that  he  was  mean  in  character  or  humble 
in  spirit  ; no,  he  was  a philosopher,  or  rather  he  had  the 
indifference,  the  apathy,  the  extravagance  which  banish 
from  man  every  feeling  of  the  hierarchical  world.  His 
sole  ambition  was  to  spend  money.  But  in  this  respect 
the  worthy  M.  de  Manicamp  was  a gulf.  Three  or  four 
times  every  year  regularly  he  drained  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  ; and  when  the  Comte  de  Guiche  was  thoroughly 
drained,  when  he  had  turned  out  his  pockets  and  his 
purse  before  him,  and  declared  that  it  would  be  at  least 
a fortnight  before  paternal  munificence  would  refill  those 
pockets  and  that  purse,  Manicamp  lost  all  his  energy  : 
he  went  to  bed,  remained  there,  ate  nothing,  and  sold  his 
fine  clothes,  under  the  pretence  that,  remaining  in  bed, 
he  did  not  want  them.  During  this  prostration  of  mind 
and  strength  the  purse  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche  was  get- 
ting full  again,  and  when  once  filled,  overflowed  into  that 
of  Manicamp,  who  bought  new  clothes,  dressed  himself 
again,  and  recommenced  the  same  life  he  had  followed 
before.  This  mania  of  selling  his  new  clothes  for  a quar- 
ter of  what  they  were  worth  had  rendered  our  hero  quite 
celebrated  in  Orleans,  a city  where  generally  — why,  we 
should  be  puzzled  to  say  — he  came  to  pass  his  days  of 
penitence.  Provincial  debauchees,  fops  of  six  hundred 
livres  a year,  shared  the  leavings  of  his  opulence. 

Among  the  admirers  of  these  splendid  toilettes,  our 
friend  Malicorne  was  conspicuous ; he  was  the  son  of  a 
syndic  of  the  city,  of  whom  M.  le  Prince  de  Conde,  always 
needy  like  a Conde,  often  borrowed  money  at  enormous 
interest.  M.  Malicorne  kept  the  paternal  money-chest ; 

VOL.  II.  — 19 


290 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


that  is  to  say,  in  those  times  of  easy  morals  he  had  made 
for  himself,  by  following  the  example  of  his  father,  and 
lending  at  high  interest  for  short  terms,  a revenue  of 
eighteen  hundred  livres,  without  reckoning  six  hundred 
other  livres  furnished  by  the  generosity  of  the  syndic ; so 
that  Malicorne  was  the  king  of  the  gay  youth  of  Orleans, 
having  twenty-four  hundred  livres  to  scatter,  squander, 
and  waste  on  follies  of  every  kind.  But,  quite  in  con- 
trast to  Manicamp,  Malicorne  was  terribly  ambitious.  He 
loved  from  ambition,  he  spent  money  from  ambition,  and 
he  would  have  ruined  himself  from  ambition. 

Malicorne  had  determined  to  rise,  at  whatever  price  it 
might  cost ; and  for  this,  at  whatever  price  it  did  cost,  he 
had  given  himself  a mistress  and  a friend.  The  mistress, 
Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  was  cruel,  as  regarded  the 
highest  favors  of  love ; but  she  was  of  a noble  family, 
and  that  was  sufficient  for  Malicorne.  The  friend  had  no 
friendship,  but  he  was  the  favorite  of  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
himself  the  friend  of  Monsieur  the  king’s  brother  ; and 
that  was  sufficient  for  Malicorne.  Only,  in  the  chapter 
of  charges,  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  cost  per  annum , in 
ribbons,  gloves,  and  sweets,  a thousand  livres ; Mani- 
camp cost  — money  lent,  never  returned  — from  twelve  to 
fifteen  hundred  livres  per  annum  : so  that  there  was 
nothing  left  for  Malicorne.  Ah,  yes,  we  are  mistaken  ; 
there  was  left  the  paternal  strong-box.  He  employed  a 
mode  of  proceeding,  upon  which  he  preserved  the  most 
profound  secrecy,  and  which  consisted  in  advancing  to 
himself,  from  the  coffer  of  the  syndic,  half  a dozen  years, 
that  is  to  say,  fifteen  thousand  livres,  swearing  to  himself 
— observe,  quite  to  himself — to  repay  this  deficiency  as 
soon  as  an  opportunity  should  present  itself.  The  oppor- 
tunity was  expected  to  be  the  concession  of  a good  post 
in  the  household  of  Monsieur,  when  that  household  should 


MALICORNE  AND  MANICAMP. 


29  L 


be  established  at  the  period  of  his  marriage.  This  period 
had  arrived,  and  the  household  was  at  last  about  to  be 
established. 

A good  post  in  the  family  of  a prince  of  the  blood, 
when  it  is  given  by  the  influence  and  on  the  recommen- 
dation of  such  a friend  as  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  is  worth 
at  least  twelve  thousand  livres  per  annum;  and  by  the 
means  which  M.  Malicorne  had  taken  to  make  his  reve- 
nues fructify,  twelve  thousand  livres  might  rise  to  twenty 
thousand.  Then,  when  once  an  incumbent  of  this  post, 
he  would  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Montalais,  of  a family  which  the  woman’s  side 
ennobles,  not  only  would  be  dowered,  but  would  ennoble 
Malicorne.  But  in  order  that  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais, 
who  had  not  a large  patrimonial  fortune,  although  an 
only  daughter,  might  be  suitably  dowered,  it  was  neces- 
sary that  she  should  belong  to  some  great  princess  as 
prodigal  as  the  dowager  Madame  was  covetous;  and  in 
order  that  the  wife  should  not  be  on  one  side  while  the 
husband  was  on  the  other,  — a situation  which  presents 
serious  inconveniences,  particularly  with  characters  like 
those  of  the  future  consorts,  — Malicorne  had  conceived 
the  idea  of  making  the  central  point  of  union  the  house- 
hold of  Monsieur  the  king’s  brother.  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais  would  be  maid  of  honor  to  Madame.  M. 
Malicorne  would  be  officer  to  Monsieur. 

It  is  plain  that  the  plan  was  formed  by  a clear  head  ; 
it  is  plain,  also,  that  it  had  been  bravely  executed.  Mali- 
corne had  asked  Manicamp  to  ask  the  Comte  de  Guiche 
for  a commission  of  maid  of  honor;  and  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  had  asked  this  commission  of  Monsieur,  who  had 
signed  it  without  hesitation.  The  moral  plan  of  Mali- 
corne, — for  we  may  well  suppose  that  the  combinations 
of  a mind  as  active  as  his  were  not  confined  to  the  present, 


‘292 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


but  extended  to  the  future,  — the  moral  plan  of  Mali- 
corne,  we  say,  was  this  : to  obtain  entrance  into  the 
household  of  Madame  Henrietta  for  a woman  devoted  to 
himself,  who  was  intelligent,  young,  handsome,  and  in- 
triguing; to  learn,  by  means  of  this  woman,  all  the 
feminine  secrets  of  the  young  household ; while  he, 
Malieorne,  and  his  friend  Manicamp  should  between 
them  know  all  the  male  secrets  of  the  young  com- 
munity. By  these  means  a rapid  and  splendid  fortune 
might  be  acquired.  Malieorne  was  a vile  name,  — he 
who  bore  it  had  too  much  wit  to  conceal  this  truth 
from  himself,  — but  an  estate  might  be  purchased  ; and 
Malieorne  of  some  place,  or  even  Malieorne  itself,  quite 
short,  would  sound  nobly  in  the  ear. 

It  was  not  improbable  that  a most  aristocratic  origin 
might  be  found  for  this  name  of  Malieorne  ; might  it  not 
come  from  some  estate  where  a bull  with  fatal  horns  had 
caused  some  great  misfortune,  and  baptized  the  soil  with 
the  blood  it  had  spilt?  It  is  true,  this  plan  presented 
itself  bristling  with  difficulties  ; but  the  greatest  of  all 
was  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  herself.  Capricious,  va- 
riable, sly,  giddy,  free,  prudish,  a virgin  armed  with  claws, 
Erigone  stained  with  grapes,  she  sometimes  overturned, 
with  a single  dash  of  her  wffiite  fingers  or  with  a single 
puff  from  her  laughing  lips,  the  edifice  which  had  em- 
ployed the  patience  of  Malieorne  a month  to  establish. 

Love  aside,  Malieorne  was  happy ; but  this  love  which 
he  could  not  help  feeling,  he  had  the  strength  carefully 
to  conceal,  persuaded  that  at  the  least  relaxing  of  the 
ties  by  wdiich  he  had  bound  his  Protean  sweetheart,  the 
demon  would  overthrow  him  and  laugh  at  him.  He 
humbled  his  mistress  by  disdaining  her.  Burning  with 
desire  when  she  advanced  to  tempt  him,  he  had  the  art 
to  appear  like  ice,  persuaded  that  if  he  opened  his  arms 


MALIC  OR  NE  AND  MANICAMP. 


293 


she  would  run  away  laughing  at  him.  On  her  side, 

[ Montalais  believed  that  she  did  not  love  Malicorne  ; while, 
on  the  contrary,  she  did  love  him.  Malicorne  repeated 
to  her  so  often  his  protestations  of  indifference,  that  she 
finished,  sometimes,  by  believing  him ; and  then  she  be- 
lieved she  detested  him.  If  she  tried  to  bring  him  back 
by  coquetry,  Malicorne  played  at  coquetry  better  than 
she  could.  But  what  made  Montalais  hold  to  Malicorne 
inseparably  was  that  Malicorne  always  came  cram-full 
of  fresh  news  brought  from  the  court  and  the  city ; 
that  he  always  brought  to  Blois  a fashion,  a secret,  or 
a perfume ; that  he  never  asked  for  a meeting,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  required  to  be  supplicated  to  receive  the 
favors  he  burned  to  obtain.  On  her  side,  Montalais 
was  no  miser  with  stories.  By  her  means  Malicorne 
learned  all  that  passed  in  the  family  of  the  dowager 
Madame ; and  he  related  to  Manicamp  tales  that  made 
him  ready  to  die  with  laughing,  which  the  latter  out 
of  idleness  took  ready-made  to  M.  de  Guiche,  who  car- 
ried them  to  Monsieur. 

Such,  in  short,  was  the  woof  of  petty  interests  and 
petty  conspiracies  which  united  Blois  with  Orleans,  and 
Orleans  with  Paris ; and  which  was  about  to  bring  into 
the  last-named  city,  where  she  was  to  produce  so  great 
a revolution,  the  poor  little  La  Yalliere,  who  was  far  from 
suspecting,  as  she  returned  joyfully,  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  her  mother,  for  what  a strange  future  she  was  reserved. 
As  to  the  good  man,  Malicorne,  — we  speak  of  the  syndic 
of  Orleans,  — he  did  not  see  more  clearly  into  the  present 
than  others  did  into  the  future ; and  had  no  suspicion, 
as  he  walked  every  day,  between  three  and  five  o’clock, 
after  his  dinner,  upon  the  Place  Ste. -Catherine,  in  his 
gray  coat,  cut  after  the  fashion  of  Louis  XIII.,  and  his 
cloth  shoes  with  great  knots  of  ribbon,  that  it  was  he 


294 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


who  paid  for  all  those  bursts  of  laughter,  all  those  stolen 
kisses,  all  those  whisperings,  all  that  ribbonry,  and  all 
those  bubble  projects  which  formed  a chain  of  forty-five 
leagues  in  length,  from  the  palais  of  Blois  to  the  Palais- 
Royal. 


MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 


295 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 

Malicorne  left  Blois,  as  we  have  said,  and  went  to 
find  his  friend  Manicamp,  then  in  temporary  retreat  in 
the  city  of  Orleans.  It  was  just  at  the  moment  when 
that  young  nobleman  was  employed  in  selling  the  last 
piece  of  decent  clothing  he  had  left.  He  had,  a fortnight 
before,  extorted  from  the  Comte  de  Guiche  a hundred 
pistoles,  all  he  had  to  assist  in  equipping  him  properly  to 
go  and  meet  Madame,  on  her  arrival  at  Havre.  He  had 
drawn  from  Malicorne,  three  days  before,  fifty  pistoles,  the 
price  of  the  commission  obtained  for  Montalais.  He  had 
then  no  expectations  of  anything  else,  having  exhausted 
all  his  resources,  with  the  exception  of  selling  a handsome 
suit  of  cloth  and  satin,  all  embroidered  and  laced  with 
gold,  which  had  been  the  admiration  of  the  court.  But 
to  be  able  to  sell  this  suit,  the  last  he  had  left,  — as  we 
have  been  forced  to  confess  to  the  reader,  — Manicamp 
had  been  obliged  to  take  to  his  bed.  No  more  fire,  no 
more  pocket-money,  no  more  walking-money ; nothing  but 
sleep  to  take  the  place  of  banquets,  companies,  and  balls. 
It  has  been  said,  “ He  who  sleeps,  dines;”  but  it  has 
not  been  said,  He  who  sleeps,  plays ; or,  He  who  sleeps, 
dances.  Manicamp,  reduced  to  this  extremity  of  neither 
playing  nor  dancing  for  a week  at  least,  was  consequently 
very  sad ; he  was  expecting  a usurer,  and  saw  Malicorne 
enter.  A cry  of  distress  escaped  him. 


296 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Eh  ! what  ! ” said  he,  in  a tone  whioli  nothing  can 
describe,  “ is  that  you  again,  dear  friend  ] ” 

“ Humph ! you  are  very  polite  ! ” said  Malicorne. 

“ Ay  ; but,  look  you,  I was  expecting  money,  and  in- 
stead of  the  money,  I see  you  come.” 

“ And  suppose  I brought  you  some  money  ]” 

“ Oh,  then  it  is  quite  another  thing ! You  are  very 
welcome,  my  dear  friend  ! ” and  he  held  out  his  hand, 
not  for  the  hand  of  Malicorne,  but  for  his  purse. 
Malicorne  pretended  to  be  mistaken,  and  gave  him  his 
hand. 

“ And  the  money  ] ” said  Manicamp. 

“My  dear  friend,  if  you  wish  to  have  it,  earn  it.” 

“ What  must  be  done  for  it  ] ” 

“ Earn  it,  parbleu  ! ” 

“And  in  what  way]” 

“ Oh,  it  is  hard,  I warn  you  ! ” 

“ The  devil ! ” 

“ You  must  get  out  of  bed,  and  go  immediately  to 
M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche.” 

“ I get  up ! ” said  Manicamp,  stretching  himself  in  his 
bed  voluptuously  ; “ oh,  no,  thank  you  ! ” 

“You  have,  then,  sold  all  your  clothes]” 

“No;  I have  one  suit  left,  — the  handsomest  even, — 
but  I expect  a purchaser.” 

. “ And  the  hose  ] ” 

“Well,  if  you  look,  you  can  see  them  on  that  chair.” 
“Very  well;  since  you  have  some  hose  and  a doublet 
left,  put  your  legs  into  the  first  and  your  back  into  the 
other,  have  a horse  saddled,  and  set  off.” 

“ Not  I.” 

“ And  why  not  ] ” 

“ Morbleu ! don’t  you  know,  then,  that  M.  de  Guiche 
is  at  Eltampes  ] ” 


MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 


297 


“ No  ; I thought  he  was  at  Paris.  You  will  have  then 
only  fifteen  leagues  to  go,  instead  of  thirty.” 

“ You  are  a wonderfully  clever  fellow  ! If  I were  to 
ride  fifteen  leagues  in  these  clothes,  they  would  never 
be  fit  to  put  on  again  ; and  instead  of  selling  them  for 
thirty  pistoles,  I should  be  obliged  to  take  fifteen  for 
them.” 

“ Sell  them  for  what  you  like,  but  I must  have  a second 
commission  of  maid  of  honor.” 

“ Good  ! For  whom  1 Is  Montalais  doubled,  then  h ” 

“ Vile  fellow  ! It  is  you  who  are  doubled  ; you  swallow 
up  two  fortunes,  — mine  and  that  of  M.  le  Comte  de 
Guiche.” 

“ You  should  say  that  of  M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche  and 
yours.” 

“That  is  true,  — honor  where  it  is  due;  but  I return 
to  my  commission.” 

“And  you  are  wrong.” 

“ Prove  me  that.” 

“ My  friend,  there  will  be  only  twelve  maids  of  honor 
for  Madame ; I have  already  obtained  for  you  what 
twelve  hundred  women  are  trying  for,  and  for  that  I was 
forced  to  employ  diplomacy.” 

“ Oh,  yes,  I know  you  have  been  quite  heroic,  my  dear 
friend.” 

“We  know  what  we  are  about,”  said  Manicamp. 

“ To  whom  do  you  tell  that  ] When  I am  king,  I 
promise  you  one  thing.” 

“ What  1 To  call  yourself  Malicorne  I.  ? ” 

“ No  ; to  make  you  superintendent  of  my  finances.  But 
that  is  not  the  question  now.” 

“ Unfortunately.” 

“ The  present  affair  is  to  procure  for  me  a second  place 
of  maid  of  honor.” 


298 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


“My  friend,  if  you  were  to  promise  me  lieaven  I would 
not  disturb  myself  at  this  moment.,, 

Malicorne  chinked  the  money  in  his  pocket.  “ There 
are  twenty  pistoles  here,”  said  he. 

“ And  what  would  you  do  with  twenty  pistoles,  mon 
Lieu!11 

“Well,”  said  Malicorne,  a little  angrily,  “suppose  I 
were  only  to  add  them  to  the  five  hundred  you  already 
owe  me  ? ” 

“You  are  right,”  replied  Manicamp,  stretching  out  his 
hand  again,  “ and  in  that  point  of  view  I can  accept  them. 
Give  them  to  me.” 

“ One  moment.  What  the  devil ! it  is  not  only  hold- 
ing out  your  hand  that  will  do  ; if  I give  you  the  twenty 
pistoles,  shall  I have  my  commission  1 ” 

“To  be  sure  you  shall.” 

“Soon?” 

“ To-day.” 

“ Oh,  take  care,  M.  de  Manicamp  ! You  undertake 
much,  and  I do  not  ask  all  that.  Thirty  leagues  in  one 
day  is  too  much,  and  you  would  kill  yourself.” 

“ I think  nothing  impossible  when  obliging  a friend.” 

“ You  are  quite  heroic.” 

“ Where  are  the  twenty  pistoles  ? ” 

“ Here  they  are,”  said  Malicorne,  showing  them. 

“ That  is  well.” 

“Yes;  but,  my  dear  M.  Manicamp,  you  would  con 
sume  them  in  nothing  but  post-horses.” 

“No,  no  ; make  yourself  easy  on  that  head.” 

“ Pardon  me ; why,  it  is  fifteen  leagues  from  this  place 
to  Etampes.” 

“ Fourteen.” 

“Well,  fourteen  be  it.  Fourteen  leagues  make  seven 
posts,  at  twenty  sous  the  post,  seven  livres ; seven  livres 


MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 


299 


the  courier,  fourteen ; as  many  for  coming  back,  twenty- 
eight;  as  much  for  bed  and  supper, — that  makes  sixty 
of  the  livres  which  this  accommodation  would  cost 
you.” 

Manicamp  stretched  himself  like  a serpent  in  his  bed, 
and  fixing  his  two  great  eyes  upon  Malicorne,  “ You  are 
right,”  said  he  ; “I  could  not  return  before  to-morrow  ; ” 
and  he  took  the  twenty  pistoles. 

“ Now,  then,  be  off  ! ” 

“ Well,  as  I cannot  be  back  before  to-morrow,  we  have 
time.” 

“ Time  for  what  1 ” 

“ Time  to  play.” 

“ What  do  you  wish  to  play  with  ? ” 

“ Your  twenty  pistoles,  pardieu  !” 

“ No ; you  always  win.” 

“ I will  wager  them,  then.” 

“ Against  what  ^ ” 

“ Against  twenty  others.” 

“ And  what  shall  be  the  object  of  the  wager  ? ” 

“This.  We  have  said  it  was  fourteen  leagues  to 
Etampes?  ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  fourteen  leagues  back  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Consequently  twenty-eight  leagues.” 
u Doubtless.” 

“ Well,  for  these  twenty-eight  leagues  you  cannot  allow 
less  than  fourteen  hours  1 ” 

“ That  is  agreed.” 

u One  hour  to  find  the  Comte  de  Guiclie.” 

“ Go  on.” 

“ And  an  hour  to  persuade  him  to  write  a letter  to 
Monsieur.” 


300 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Just  so.” 

“ Sixteen  hours  in  all.” 

“ You  reckon  as  well  as  M.  Colbert.” 

“ It  is  now  twelve  o’clock.” 

“ Half-past.” 

“ Humph  ! you  have  a fine  watch.” 

“ What  were  you  saying  ? ” said  Malicorne,  putting  his 
watch  back  into  his  fob. 

“ Ah  ! true ; I was  offering  to  lay  you  twenty  pistoles 
against  these  you  have  lent  me,  that  you  will  have  the 
Comte  de  Guiche’s  letter  in  — ” 

“ How  soon  ? ” 

“ In  eight  hours.” 

“ Have  you  a winged  horse  ? ” 

“That  is  my  affair.  Will  you  wager  ? ” 

“ I shall  have  the  count’s  letter  in  eight  hours  ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Signed  ] ” 

“ Yes.” 

“In  hand?” 

“ In  hand.” 

“Well,  be  it  so  ; I wager,”  said  Malicorne,  curious' to 
know  how  this  seller  of  clothes  would  get  through. 

“ Is  it  agreed  ? ” 

“ It  is.” 

“ Pass  me  the  pen,  ink,  and  paper.” 

“ Here  they  are.” 

“ Thank  you.” 

Manicamp  raised  himself  with  a sigh,  and  leaning  | 
on  his  left  arm,  in  his  best  hand  traced  the  following 
lines : — 


An  order  for  a place  of  maid  of  honor  to  Madame,  which 
M.  le  Comte  de  Guiche  will  take  upon  him  to  obtain  at  sight. 

De  Manicamp. 


MANIC  AMP  AND  MALICORNE. 


301 


This  painful  task  accomplished,  he  stretched  hirnself 
at  full  length  again. 

“ Well  ! ” asked  Malicorne,  “ what  does  this  mean  ? ” 

“ That  means  that  if  you  are  in  a hurry  to  have  the 
letter  from  the  Comte  de  Guiche  for  Monsieur,  I have 
won  my  wager.” 

“ How  the  devil  is  that?” 

“ That  is  transparent  enough,  I think  ; you  take  that 
paper.” 

“Well?” 

“ And  you  set  out  instead  of  me.” 

“ Ah  ! ” 

“ You  put  your  horses  to  their  best  speed.” 

“ Good  ! ” 

“In  six  hours  you  will  be  at  Etampes;  in  seven 
hours  you  have  the  letter  from  the  count,  and  I shall 
have  won  my  wager  without  having  stirred  from  my 
bed,  — which  suits  me  and  you  too  at  the  same  time, 
I am  very  sure.” 

“ Decidedly,  Manicamp,  you  are  a great  man.” 

“ I know  that.” 

“ I am  to  start,  then,  for  Etampes  ? ” 

“ Directly.” 

“ I am  to  go  to  the  Comte  de  Guiche  with  this  order  ? ” 
“ He  will  give  you  a similar  one  for  Monsieur.” 

“ I am  to  go  to  Paris.” 

“ You  will  go  and  find  Monsieur  with  the  Comte  de 
Guiche’s  order.” 

“ Monsieur  will  approve?  ” 

“ Instantly.” 

“ And  I shall  have  my  commission?” 

“ You  shall.” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“Well,  I hope  I behave  properly?” 


802 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Admirably.” 

“ Thank  you.” 

“ You  do  as  you  please,  then,  with  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  my  dear  Manicamp  ? ” 

“ Except  making  money  of  him, — everything.” 

“ Diable ! the  exception  is  annoying ; but  then,  if  in- 
stead of  asking  him  for  money,  you  were  to  ask  — ” 

“ What  1 ” 

“ Something  important.” 

“ W7hat  do  you  call  important  ] ” 

“ Well,  suppose  one  of  your  friends  asked  you  to  ren- 
der him  a service  ] ” 

“ I would  not  render  it  to  him.” 

“ Selfish  fellow  ! ” 

“ Or  at  least  I would  ask  him  what  service  he  would 
render  me  in  exchange.” 

* Ah  ! that  is  fair.  Well,  that  friend  speaks  to  you.” 
v 1 What ! you,  Malicorne  ! ” 

“ Yes  ; it  is  I.” 

(i  Ah  ! you  are  rich,  then  ] ” 

“ I have  still  fifty  pistoles  left.” 

“ Exactly  the  sum  I want.  Where  are  those  fifty 
pistoles'?  ” 

“ Here,”  said  Malicorne,  slapping  his  pocket. 

“ Then  speak,  my  friend  ; what  do  you  want  1 ” 
Malicorne  took  up  the  pen,  ink,  and  paper  again,  and 
presented  them  all  to  Manicamp.  “ Write  !”  said  he. 

“ Dictate  ! ” 

“ An  order  for  a place  in  the  household  of  Monsieur.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Manicamp,  laying  down  the  pen,  “ a place 
in  the  household  of  Monsieur  for  fifty  pistoles  1 ” 

“ You  mistook  me,  my  friend ; you  did  not  hear 
plainly.” 


MANICAMP  AND  MALICORNE. 


303 


44  What  did  you  say,  then  ] ” 

44  I said  five  hundred.” 

•4  And  the  five  hundred  ? ” 

“ Here  they  are.” 

Manicamp  devoured  the  rouleau  with  his  eyes  ; but  this 
time  Malicorne  held  it  at  a distance.  44  Eh  ! what  do  you 
say  to  that  ? Five  hundred  pistoles.” 

44  I say  it  is  for  nothing,  my  friend,”  said  Manicamp, 
taking  up  the  pen  again,  44  and  you  will  wear  out  my 
credit.  Dictate ! ” 

Malicorne  continued  : — 

44  Which  my  friend  the  Comte  de  Guiche  will  obtain  from 
Monsieur  for  my  friend  Malicorne.” 

44  There  you  are  ! ” said  Manicamp. 

44  Pardon  me,  you  have  forgotten  to  sign.” 

44  Ah  ! that  is  true.  The  five  hundred  pistoles  ] ” 

44  Here  are  two  hundred  and  fifty  of  them.” 

44  And  the  other  two  hundred  and  fifty  ? ” 

44  When  I shall  be  in  possession  of  my  place.” 
Manicamp  made  a face. 

4 4 In  that  case  give  me  the  recommendation  back 
again.” 

44  What  for?” 

44  To  add  two  words  to  it.” 

44  Two  words  ? ” 

44  Yes;  two  words  only.” 

44 What  are  they]” 

44  4 In  haste.’  ” 

Malicorne  returned  the  recommendation ; Manicamp 
added  the  words. 

44  Good ! ” said  Malicorne,  taking  back  the  paper. 
Manicamp  began  to  count  the  pistoles.  44  There  are 
twenty  wanting,”  said  he. 


304 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BKAGELONNE. 


“ How  SO  ]” 

“ The  twenty  I have  won.” 

“ In  what  way  1 ” 

“ By  wagering  that  you  would  have  the  letter  from  the 
Comte  de  Guiche  in  eight  hours.” 

“ That  ?s  fair ; ” and  he  gave  him  the  twenty  pistoles. 

Manicamp  began  to  take  up  his  gold  by  handfuls,  and 
pour  it  down  in  cascades  upon  his  bed. 

“ This  second  place,”  murmured  Malicorne,  while  dry- 
ing his  paper,  “ which,  at  the  first  glance,  appears  to  cost 
me  more  than  the  first,  but  — ” 

He  stopped,  took  up  the  pen  in  his  turn,  and  wrote  to 
Montalais : — 

Mademoiselle,  — Announce  to  your  friend  that  her  com- 
mission will  not  be  long  in  arriving.  I am  setting  out  to  get 
it  signed  ; that  will  he  eighty-six  leagues  I shall  have  gone  for 
the  love  of  you. 

Then  with  his  cunning  smile,  resuming  his  broken  solil- 
oquy, “ This  place,”  said  he,  “at  the  first  glance,  appears 
to  cost  me  more  than  the  first ; but  the  benefit  will  be,  I 
hope,  in  proportion  to  the  expense,  and  Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere  will  bring  me  back  more  than  Mademoiselle 
de  Montalais,  or  else  — or  else  my  name  is  not  Malicorne. 
Farewell,  Manicamp  ! ” and  he  left  the  room. 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  305 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT. 

When  Malicorne  arrived  at  Etampes,  he  was  informed 
that  the  Comte  de  Guiche  had  just  set  out  for  Paris.  He 
took  a two  hours7  rest,  and  then  prepared  to  continue  his 
journey.  He  reached  Paris  during  the  night,  and  alighted 
at  a small  hotel  which  he  had  frequented  in  his  previous 
journeys  to  the  capital,  and  at  eight  o7clock  the  next 
morning  presented  himself  at  the  Hotel  Grammont. 
Malicorne  arrived  just  in  time ; for  the  Comte  de  Guiche 
was  on  the  point  of  taking  leave  of  Monsieur  before  set- 
ting out  for  Havre,  where  the  elite  of  the  French  nobility 
had  gone  to  await  Madame7s  arrival  from  England.  Mal- 
icorne pronounced  the  name  of  Manicamp,  and  was  imme- 
diately admitted.  He  found  the  Comte  de  Guiche  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  Hotel  Grammont,  inspecting  his  horses, 
which  his  trainers  and  equerries  were  passing  in  review 
before  him.  The  count,  in  the  presence  of  his  trades- 
people and  of  his  servants,  was  engaged  in ’praising  or 
blaming,  as  the  case  seemed  to  deserve,  the  appointments, 
horses,  and  harness  which  were  submitted  to  his  inspec- 
tion, when,  in  the  midst  of  this  important  occupation,  the 
name  of  Manicamp  was  announced. 

“ Manicamp  ! ” he  exclaimed;  “let  him  enter  by  all 
means ; ” and  he  advanced  a few  steps  towards  the  door. 

Malicorne  slipped  through  the  half-open  door,  and 
looking  at  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  who  was  surprised  to  see 
a face  which  he  did  not  recognize  instead  of  the  one  he 
vol.  ii.  — 20 


306 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


expected,  said  : “ Forgive  me,  Monsieur  the  Count,  but  I 
believe  a mistake  has  been  made.  M.  Manicamp  himself 
was  announced  to  you,  instead  of  which  it  is  only  an 
envoy  from  him.” 

“ Ah  ! ” said  De  Guiche,  rather  coldly  ; “ and  what  do 
you  bring  me  ? ” 

“ A letter,  Monsieur  the  Count.”  Malicorne  handed 
him  the  document,  and  narrowly  watched  the  count’s 
face,  who,  as  he  read  it,  began  to  laugh. 

“ What ! ” he  exclaimed,  “ another  maid  of  honor?  Are 
all  the  maids  of  honor  in  France,  then,  under  his  protec- 
tion ?”  Malicorne  bowed.  “ Why  does  he  not  come  him- 
self?” De  Guiche  inquired. 

“He  is  confined  to  his  bed.” 

“ The  deuce ! he  has  no  money,  then,  I suppose,”  said 
De  Guiche,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  “But  what  does  he 
do  with  his  money?” 

Malicorne  made  a movement  to  indicate  that  upon  this 
subject  he  was  as  ignorant  as  the  count  himself. 

4 ‘Then  why  does  he  not  make  use  of  his  credit?” 
continued  De  Guiche. 

“ With  regard  to  that,  I think  — ” 

“ What  ? » 

“ That  Manicamp  has  credit  with  no  one  but  yourself, 
Monsieur  the  Count.” 

“ He  will  not  be  at  Havre,  then  ? ” 

Whereupon  Malicorne  made  another  movement. 

“ It  seems  to  be  impossible,  and  yet  every  one  will  be 
there.” 

“ I trust,  Monsieur  the  Count,  that  he  will  not  neglect 
so  excellent  an  opportunity.” 

“ He  should  be  at  Paris  by  this  time.” 

“ He  will  take  the  cross  road,  to  make  up  for  lost  time.” 

“ Where  is  he  now  ? ” 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  307 


“ At  Orleans.” 

“ Monsieur,”  said  De  Guiche,  bowing,  “ you  seem  to 
me  a man  of  very  good  taste.” 

Malicorne  wore  Manicamp’s  clothes.  He  bowed  in  re- 
turn, saying,  “ You  do  me  very  great  honor,  Monsieur.” 

“ Whom  have  I the  pleasure  of  addressing  ? ” 

“ My  name  is  Malicorne,  Monsieur.” 

“ M.  de  Malicorne,  what  do  you  think  of  these  pistol- 
holsters  1 ” 

Malicorne  was  a man  of  great  readiness,  and  immedi- 
ately understood  the  situation.  Besides,  the  “ de  ” which 
De  Guiche  had  prefixed  to  Malicorne’s  name  raised  him  to 
the  rank  of  the  person  with  whom  he  was  conversing.  He 
looked  at  the  holsters  with  the  air  of  a connoisseur,  and 
said,  without  hesitation,  “ Somewhat  heavy,  Monsieur.” 

“ You  see,”  said  De  Guiche  to  the  saddler,  “ this  gentle- 
man, who  is  a man  of  taste,  thinks  your  holsters  heavy, 
— a complaint  I had  already  made.”  The  saddler  was 
full  of  excuses. 

“ And  what  do  you  think,”  asked  De  Guiche,  “ of  this 
horse,  which  is  a purchase  I have  just  made  1 ” 

“ To  look  at  him,  he  seems  perfect,  Monsieur  the  Count ; 
but  I must  mount  him  before  I give  you  my  opinion.” 

“ Do  so,  M.  de  Malicorne,  and  ride  him  round  the  court 
two  or  three  times.” 

The  courtyard  of  the  hotel  was  so  arranged  that  when- 
ever there  was  any  occasion  for  it,  it  could  be  used  as  a 
riding-school.  Malicorne,  with  perfect  ease,  arranged  the 
curb  and  snaffle-reins,  placed  his  left  hand  on  the  horse’s 
mane,  and  with  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  raised  himself  to 
the  saddle.  At  first  he  made  the  horse  walk  the  whole 
circuit  of  the  courtyard  at  a foot-pace  ; next  at  a trot ; 
lastly  at  a gallop.  He  then  drew  up  close  to  the  count, 
dismounted,  and  threw  the  bridle  to  a groom  standing  by. 


308 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Well,”  said  the  count,  “ what  do  you  think  of  it,  M. 
de  Malicorne  ? ” 

“This  horse,  Monsieur  the  Count,”  said  Malicorne,  “is 
of  the  Mecklenburg  breed.  In  looking  to  see  whether  the 
bit  suited  his  mouth,  I saw  that  he  was  rising  seven,  the 
very  age  when  the  training  of  a war-horse  should  begin. 
The  fore-hand  is  light.  A horse  which  holds  his  head 
high,  it  is  said,  never  tires  his  rider’s  hand.  The  withers 
are  rather  low.  The  drooping  of  the  hind-quarters  would 
almost  make  me  doubt  the  purity  of  its  German  breed, 
and  I think  there  is  English  blood  in  him.  He  stands 
well  on  his  legs,  but  he  trots  high,  and  may  cut  himself, 
which  requires  attention  to  be  paid  to  his  shoeing.  He 
is  tractable ; and  as  I made  him  turn  round  and  change 
his  feet,  I found  him  quick  and  ready  in  doing  so.” 

“ Well  said,  M.  de  Malicorne,”  exclaimed  the  count  5 
“you  are  a judge  of  horses,  I perceive  ; ” then,  turning 
toward  the  new  arrival  again,  he  continued  : “ You  are 
most  becomingly  dressed,  M.  de  Malicorne.  That  is  not 
a provincial  cut,  I presume.  Such  a style  of  dress  is  not 
to  be  met  with  at  Tours  or  Orleans.” 

“ No,  Monsieur  the  Count ; my  clothes  were  made  at 
Paris.” 

“ There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  But  let  us  resume  our 
own  affair.  Manicamp  wishes,  then,  for  the  appointment 
of  a second  maid  of  honor.” 

“ You  perceive  what  he  has  written,  Monsieur  the 
Count.” 

“For  whom  was  the  first  appointment?” 

Malicorne  felt  the  color  rise  in  his  face,  as  he  answered 
hurriedly,  “ A charming  maid  of  honor,  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais.” 

“ Ah  ! you  are  acquainted  with  her?  ” 

“We  are  affianced,  or  nearly  so.” 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  309 

“ That  is  quite  another  thing,  then ; a thousand  com- 
pliments,” exclaimed  De  Guiche,  upon  whose  lips  a cour- 
tier’s jest  was  already  flitting,  but  to  whom  the  word 
“ affianced,”  applied  by  Malicorne  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Montalais,  recalled  the  respect  due  to  women. 

“ And  for  whom  is  the  second  appointment  destined  ? ” 
inquired  De  Guiche  ; 61  is  it  for  any  one  to  whom  Manicamp 
may  happen  to  be  affianced  *1  In  that  case  I pity  her,  poor 
girl ! for  she  will  have  a sad  fellow  for  a husband.” 

“ No,  Monsieur  the  Count ; the  second  appointment  is 
for  Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de  la  Valliere.” 

“ Unknown,”  said  De  Guiche. 

“Unknown'?  yes,  Monsieur,”  said  Malicorne,  smiling 
in  his  turn. 

“ Very  good.  I will  speak  to  Monsieur  about  it.  By 
the  by,  she  is  of  gentle  birth  1 ” 

“ She  belongs  to  a very  good  family,  and  is  maid  of 
honor  to  Madame  the  Dowager.” 

“ Very  well.  Will  you  accompany  me  to  Monsieur  ] ” 

“ Most  certainly,  if  I may  be  permitted  the  honor.” 

“ Have  you  your  carriage  1 ” 

“ No  ; I came  here  on  horseback.” 

“ Dressed  as  you  are  V9 

“ No,  Monsieur ; I posted  from  Orleans,  and  changed 
my  travelling  suit  for  the  one  I have  on,  in  order  to 
present  myself  to  you.” 

“ True,  you  have  already  told  me  you  came  from  Or- 
leans ; ” saying  which  he  crumpled  Manicamp’s  letter  in 
his  hand,  and  thrust  it  in  his  pocket. 

“ Monsieur,”  said  Malicorne,  timidly,  “ I do  not  think 
you  have  read  all.” 

“ Not  read  all,  do  you  say  V 1 

“ No  ; there  were  two  letters  in  the  same  envelope.” 

“ Oh  ! are  you  sure  ? ” 


310 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Quite  sure.” 

“ Let  us  look,  then,”  said  the  count,  as  he  opened  the 
letter  again. 

“ Ah  ! you  are  right,”  he  said,  opening  the  paper  which 
he  had  not  yet  read. 

“I  suspected  it,”  he  continued;  “ another  application 
for  an  appointment  under  Monsieur.  This  Manicamp  is 
a perfect  gulf ; he  is  carrying  on  a trade  in  it.” 

“ No,  Monsieur  the  Count ; he  wishes  to  make  a present 
of  it.” 

“ To  whom  1 ” 

“ To  myself,  Monsieur.” 

“ Why  did  }rou  not  say  so  at  once,  my  dear  M.  de 
Mauvaisecorne  ? ” 

“ Malicorne,  Monsieur  the  Count.” 

“ Forgive  me  ; it  is  the  Latin  which  bothers  me,  — 
that  terrible  habit  of  derivations.  Why  the  deuce  are 
young  men  of  family  taught  Latin  ? Mala  and  mauvaise , 
— you  understand  it  is  the  same  thing.  You  will  forgive 
me,  I trust,  M.  de  Malicorne.” 

“ Your  kindness  affects  me  much,  Monsieur ; but  it  is 
a reason  why  I should  make  you  acquainted  with  one 
circumstance  without  any  delay.” 

“'What  is  it,  Monsieur 

“ That  I was  not  born  a gentleman.  I am  not  without 
courage,  and  not  altogether  deficient  in  ability;  but  my 
name  is  Malicorne  simply.” 

“ You  appear  to  me,  Monsieur,”  exclaimed  the  count, 
looking  at  the  astute  face  of  his  companion,  “to  be  a 
most  agreeable  man.  Your  face  pleases  me,  M.  Malicorne  ; 
and  you  must  possess  some  indisputably  excellent  qualities 
to  have  pleased  that  egotistical  Manicamp.  Be  candid, 
and  tell  me  whether  you  are  not  some  saint  descended 
upon  the  earth.” 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  311 


“ Why  sot” 

“ For  the  simple  reason  that  he  makes  you  a pres- 
ent of  anything.  Did  you  not  say  that  he  intended  to 
make  you  a present  of  some  appointment  in  the  king’s 
household  ] ” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur  the  Count ; but  if  I 
succeed  in  obtaining  the  appointment,  you,  and  not  he, 
will  have  bestowed  it  on  me.” 

“ Besides,  he  will  not  have  given  it  to  you  for  nothing, 
I suppose.  Stay,  I have  it ! — there  is  a Malicorne  at 
Orleans,  who  lends  money  to  the  prince.” 

“ I think  that  must  be  my  father,  Monsieur.” 

“ Ah ! the  prince  has  the  father,  and  that  terrible  de- 
vourer  of  a Manioamp  has  the  son.  Take  care,  Monsieur  ! 
I know  him.  He  will  fleece  you  completely.” 

“ The  only  difference  is  that  I lend  without  interest,” 
said  Malicorne,  smiling. 

“ I was  correct  in  saying  that  you  were  a saint,  or  that 
you  very  much  resembled  one.  M.  Malicorne,  you  shall 
have  the  post  you  want,  or  I will  forfeit  my  name.” 

“ Ah ! Monsieur  the  Count,  what  a debt  of  gratitude 
shall  I not  owe  you ! ” said  Malicorne,  enraptured. 

“ Let  us  go  to  the  prince,  my  dear  M.  Malicorne ; ” 
and  De  Guiche  proceeded  towards  the  door,  desiring 
Malicorne  to  follow  him. 

At  the  very  moment  they  were  about  to  cross  the 
threshold,  a young  man  appeared  on  the  other  side.  He 
was  from  twenty-four  to  twenty-five  years  of  age,  of  pale 
complexion,  thin  lips,  bright  eyes,  and  brown  hair  and 
eyebrows.  “ Good-day,”  he  said,  suddenly,  almost  push- 
ing De  Guiche  back  into  the  courtyard  again. 

“Ah!  is  that  you,  De  Wardes?  What!  and  booted, 
spurred,  and  whip  in  hand  too  ] ” 

“The  most  befitting  costume  for  a man  about  to  set 


312 


THE  VI COMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


off  for  Havre.  There  will  be  no  one  left  in  Paris  to- 
morrow ; ” and  the  new-comer  saluted  Malicorne  with 
great  ceremony,  whose  handsome  dress  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  a prince  in  rank. 

“ M.  Malicorne/’  said  De  Guiche  to  his  friend.  De 
Wardes  bowed. 

“M.  de  Wardes,”  said  De  Guiche  to  Malicorne,  who 
bowed  in  return.  “By  the  by,  De  Wardes,”  continued 
De  Guiche,  “ you  who  are  on  the  watch  for  this  sort  of 
thing,  can  you  tell  us  what  appointments  are  still  vacant 
at  the  Court,  or  rather  in  the  prince’s  household  ? ” 

“ In  the  prince’s  household,”  said  De  Wardes,  looking 
up  with  an  air  of  consideration ; “ let  me  see,  — that  of 
the  master  of  the  horse  is  vacant,  I believe.” 

“ Oh,”  exclaimed  Malicorne,  “ there  is  no  question  of 
such  a post  as  that,  Monsieur  ; my  ambition  is  not  nearly 
so  exalted.” 

De  Wardes  had  a more  penetrating  observation  than 
De  Guiche,  and  he  understood  Malicorne  immediately. 
“The  fact  is,”  he  said,  looking  at  him  from  head  to  foot, 
“ a man  must  be  either  a duke  or  a peer  to  fill  that  post.” 

“ All  I solicit,”  said  Malicorne,  “ is  a very  humble  ap- 
pointment ; I am  of  little  importance,  and  I do  not  rank 
myself  above  my  position.” 

“M.  Malicorne,  whom  you  see  here,”  said  De  Guiche 
to  De  Wardes,  “is  a very  excellent  fellow,  whose  only 
misfortune  is  that  of  not  being  of  gentle  birth.  But  as 
far  as  I am  concerned,  you  know,  I attach  little  value  to 
those  who  have  gentle  birth  alone  to  boast  of.” 

“Assuredly,”  said  De  Wardes;  “ but  will  you  allow  me 
to  remark,  my  dear  count,  that,  without  rank  of  some 
sort,  one  can  hardly. hope  to  belong  to  his  royal  Highness’s 
household.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  the  count ; “ the  etiquette  is  very 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  313 

strict  with  regard  to  such  matters.  The  deuce  ! we  never 
thought  of  that.’’ 

“ Alas  ! a sad  misfortune  for  me,  Monsieur  the  Count ! ” 
said  Malicorne,  changing  color  slightly. 

“ Yet  not  without  remedy,  I hope/’  returned  De  Guiche. 
“ The  remedy  is  found  easily  enough,”  exclaimed  De 
Wardes ; “ you  can  be  created  a gentleman,  my  dear 
Monsieur.  His  Eminence  the  Cardinal  Mazarin  did 
nothing  else  from  morning  till  night.” 

“ Hush,  hush,  De  Wardes  ! ” said  the  count ; “ no  jests 
of  that  kind ; it  ill  becomes  us  to  turn  such  matters  into 
ridicule.  Letters  of  nobility,  it  is  true,  are  purchasable ; 
but  that  is  a sufficient  misfortune  without  the  nobles 
themselves  laughing  at  it.” 

“ Upon  my  word,  De  Guiche,  you’re  quite  a Puritan, 
as  the  English  say.” 

At  this  moment  the  Yicomte  de  Bragelonne  was  an- 
nounced by  one  of  the  servants  in  the  courtyard,  in  pre- 
cisely the  same  manner  as  he  would  have  done  in  a salon. 

“ Come  here,  my  dear  Raoul.  What ! you,  too,  booted 
and  spurred  ! You  are  setting  off,  then  ? ” 

Bragelonne  approached  the  group  of  young  men,  and 
saluted  them  with  that  quiet  and  serious  manner  which 
was  peculiar  to  him.  His  salutation  was  principally  ad- 
dressed to  De  Wardes,  with  whom  he  was  unacquainted, 
and  whose  features,  on  perceiving  Raoul,  had  assumed 
a strange  sternness  of  expression.  “ I have  come,  De 
Guiche,”  he  said,  “to  ask  your  companionship.  We  set 
off  for  Havre,  I presume.  ’ 

“This  is  admirable,  this  is  delightful!  We  shall  have 
a capital  journey.  M.  Malicorne,  M.  de  Bragelonne  — 
ah ! M.  de  Wardes,  let  me  present  you.”  The  young 
men  saluted  each  other  in  a restrained  manner.  Their 
natures  seemed,  from  the  very  beginning,  disposed  to 


314 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


take  exception  to  each  other.  De  Wardes  was  pliant, 
subtle,  and  full  of  dissimulation  ; Raoul  was  calm,  grave, 
and  upright.  “ Decide  between  us,  — between  De  Wardes 
and  myself,  Raoul.” 

“ Upon  what  subject  ? ” 

“ Upon  the  subject  of  noble  birth.” 

“ Who  can  be  better  informed  on  that  subject  than  a 
Grammont  ? ” 

“No  compliments  ; it  is  your  opinion  I ask.” 

“ At  least  inform  me  of  the  subject  under  discussion.” 

“ De  Wardes  asserts  that  the  distribution  of  titles  is 
abused ; I,  on  the  contrary,  maintain  that  a title  is  use- 
less as  regards  the  man  on  whom  it  is  bestowed.” 

“ And  you  are  correct,”  said  Bragelonne,  quietly. 

“ But,  Monsieur  the  Viscount,”  interrupted  De  Wardes, 
with  a kind  of  obstinacy,  “ I affirm  that  it  is  I who  am 
correct.” 

“ What  was  your  opinion,  Monsieur  *?  ” 

“ I was  saying  that  everything  possible  is  done  in 
France  at  the  present  moment  to  humiliate  men  of 
family.” 

“ And  by  whom  ” asked  Raoul. 

“By  the  king  himself.  He  surrounds  himself  with 
people  who  cannot  show  four  quarterings.” 

“ Nonsense  ! ” said  De  Guiche  ; “ where  could  you  pos- 
sibly have  seen  that,  De  Wardes1?  ” 

“ One  example  will  suffice,”  he  returned,  directing  his 
look  fully  upon  Raoul. 

“ State  it,  then.” 

“Do  you  know  who  has  just  been  nominated  captain- 
general  of  the  Musketeers,  — an  appointment  more  valu- 
able than  a peerage,  for  it  gives  precedence  over  all  the 
marshals  of  France  1 ” 

Raoul’s  color  mounted  in  his  face ; for  he  saw  the 


THE  COURTYARD  OF  THE  HOTEL  GRAMMONT.  315 


object  De  Wardes  had  in  view.  “ No  ; who  has  been 
appointed  1 In  any  case  it  must  have  been  very  recently, 
for  the  appointment  was  vacant  a week  ago ; a proof  of 
which  is  that  the  king  refused  Monsieur,  who  solicited 
the  post  for  one  of  his  proteges” 

“Well,  the  king  refused  it  to  Monsieur’s  protege  in 
order  to  bestow  it  upon  the  Chevalier  d’Artagnan,  a 
younger  brother  of  some  Gascon  family,  who  has  been 
trailing  his  sword  in  the  antechambers  during  the  last 
thirty  years.” 

“ Pardon  me  if  I interrupt  you,  Monsieur, ” said  Raoul, 
darting  a stern  glance  at  De  Wardes;  “but  you  give  me 
the  impression  of  being  unacquainted  with  the  gentleman 
of  whom  you  are  speaking.” 

“ I unacquainted  with  M.  d’Artagnan  % Can  you  tell 
me,  Monsieur,  who  does  know  him]” 

“ Those  who  do  know  him,  Monsieur,”  replied  Raoul, 
with  still  greater  calmness  and  sternness  of  manner,  “ are 
in  the  habit  of  saying  that  if  he  is  not  as  good  a gentle- 
man as  the  king,  — which  is  not  his  fault,  — he  is  the 
equal  of  all  the  kings  of  the  earth  in  courage  and  loyalty. 
Such  is  my  opinion,  Monsieur  ; and  I thank  Heaven  I 
have  known  M.  d’Artagnan  from  ray  birth.” 

De  Wardes  was  about  to  reply,  when  De  Guiche  in« 
terrupted  him. 


316 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 

The  discussion  was  becoming  full  of  bitterness.  De 
Quiche  perfectly  understood  the  whole  matter ; for  there 
was  in  De  Bragelonne’s  look  something  instinctively  hos- 
tile, while  in  that  of  De  Wardes  there  was  something 
like  a determination  to  offend.  Without  inquiring  into 
the  different  feelings  which  actuated  his  two  friends, 
De  Guiche  resolved  to  ward  off  the  blow  which  he  felt 
was  on  the  point  of  being  dealt  by  one  or  the  other  of 
them,  and  perhaps  by  both.  “ Gentlemen,”  he  said, 
“ we  must  take  leave  of  one  another ; I must  pay  a 
visit  to  Monsieur.  Let  us  fulfil  our  appointments.  You, 
De  Wardes,  will  accompany  me  to  the  Louvre,  and  you, 
Raoul,  will  remain  here  master  of  the  house  ; and  as  all 
that  is  done  here  is  under  your  advice,  you  will  bestow 
the  last  glance  upon  my  preparations  for  departure.” 
Raoul,  with  the  air  of  one  who  neither  seeks  nor  fears 
a quarrel,  bowed  his  head  in  token  of  assent,  and  seated 
himself  upon  a bench  in  the  sun.  “ That  is  well,”  said 
De  Guiche ; “ remain  where  you  are,  Raoul,  and  tell  them 
to  show  you  the  two  horses  I have  just  purchased.  You 
will  give  me  your  opinion,  for  I only  bought  them  on 
condition  that  you  ratified  the  purchase.  By  the  by, 
I have  to  beg  your  pardon  for  having  omitted  to  inquire 
after  the  Comte  de  la  Fere.”  While  pronouncing  these 
latter  words,  he  closely  observed  De  Wardes,  in  order  to 
perceive  what  effect  the  name  of  Raouls  father  would 
produce  upon  him. 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 


317 


“ I thank  you/’  answered  the  young  man,  “ the  count 
is  very  well.” 

A gleam  of  deep  hatred  passed  into  De  Wardes’  eyes. 
De  Guiche,  who  appeared  not  to  notice  the  ominous  ex- 
pression, went  up  to  Raoul,  and  grasping  him  by  the  hand 
said,  “ It  is  agreed,  then,  Bragelonne,  is  it  not,  that  you 
will  rejoin  us  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Palais-Royal  1 ” He 
then  signed  to  De  Wardes,  who  had  been  engaged  in 
balancing  himself,  first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the  other, 
to  follow  him.  “We  are  going,”  said  he;  “ come,  M. 
Malicorne.” 

That  name  made  Raoul  start ; for  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  had  heard  it  pronounced  before,  but  he  could  not 
remember  on  what  occasion.  While  trying  to  do  so,  half 
dreamingly,  yet  half  irritated  at  his  conversation  with  De 
Wardes,  the  three  young  men  went  on  their  way  towards 
the  Palais-Royal,  where  Monsieur  was  residing.  Malicorne 
learned  two  things,  — the  first,  that  the  young  men  had 
something  to  say  to  each  other ; and  the  second,  that  he 
ought  not  to  walk  in  the  same  line  with  them,  and  there- 
fore he  walked  behind. 

“ Are  you  mad  1 ” said  De  Guiche  to  his  companion,  as 
soon  as  they  had  left  the  Hotel  de  Grammont ; “ you  at- 
tack M.  d’Artagnan,  and  that,  too,  before  Raoul.” 

“ Well,”  said  De  Wardes,  “what  then  ? ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  ‘ what  then  ’ ? ” 

“ Well,  is  there  any  prohibition  against  attacking  M. 
d’Artagnan  ” 

“ But  you  know  very  well  that  M.  d’Artagnan  was  one 
of  those  celebrated  and  redoubtable  four  men  who  were 
called  the  Musketeers.” 

“ That  may  be  ; but  I do  not  perceive  why  that  should 
prevent  me  from  hating  M.  d’Artagnan.” 

“ What  cause  has  he  given  you  V7 


318 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Me  1 personally,  none.'' 

“ Why  hate  him,  then  ! ” 

“ Ask  my  dead  father  that  question.” 

“ Really,  my  dear  De  Wardes,  you  surprise  me.  M. 
d’Artagnan  is  not  one  to  leave  unsettled  any  enmity  he 
may  have  to  arrange,  without  completely  clearing  his 
account.  Your  father,  I have  heard,  on  his  side  carried 
matters  with  a high  hand.  Moreover,  there  are  no  en- 
mities so  bitter  that  they  may  not  be  washed  away  by 
blood,  by  a good  sword-thrust  loyally  given.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  my  dear  De  Guiche.  This  inveterate 
dislike  existed  between  my  father  and  M.  d’Artagnan ; 
and  when  I was  quite  a child  he  acquainted  me  with 
the  reason  for  it,  and  it  is  a particular  legacy  which  he 
has  left  me  as  part  of  my  inheritance.” 

“ And  does  this  hatred  concern  M.  d’Artagnan  alone  V* 
“As  for  that,  M.  d’Artagnan  was  so  intimately  asso- 
ciated with  his  three  friends,  that  some  portion  of  the  full 
measure  of  my  hatred  for  him  must  inevitably  fall  to 
their  lot ; and  that  hatred  is  of  such  a nature  that  when- 
ever the  opportunity  occurs,  they  shall  have  no  occasion 
to  complain  of  their  portion.” 

De  Guiche  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  De  Wardes,  and 
shuddered  at  the  bitter  manner  in  which  the  young  man 
smiled.  Something  like  a presentiment  flashed  across 
his  mind.  He  knew  that  the  time  had  passed  away  for 
home  thrusts  between  gentlemen,  but  that  the  feeling  of 
hatred  treasured  up  in  the  heart,  instead  of  being  dif- 
fused abroad,  was  none  the  less  hatred ; that  a smile  was 
sometimes  as  full  of  sinister  meaning  as  a threat ; and, 
in  a word,  that  to  the  fathers  who  had  hated  with  their 
hearts  and  fought  with  their  strength,  would  now  suc- 
ceed the  sons,  who  themselves  also  would  indeed  hate 
with  their  hearts,  but  would  no  longer  encounter  their 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 


319 


enemies  save  by  the  means  of  intrigue  or  treachery.  As, 
therefore,  it  certainly  was  not  Raoul  whom  he  could  sus- 
pect either  of  intrigue  or  of  treachery,  it  was  on  Raoul’s 
account  that  De  Guiche  trembled. 

However,  while  these  gloomy  forebodings  cast  a shade 
of  anxiety  over  De  Quiche’s  countenance,  De  Wardes  had 
resumed  entire  mastery  over  himself.  “ At  all  events,” 
he  observed,  “ I have  no  personal  ill-will  towards  M.  de 
Bragelonne ; I do  not  even  know  him.” 

“ In  any  case,”  said  De  Guiche,  with  a certain  amount 
of  sternness  in  his  tone,  “ do  not  forget  one  circumstance, 
— that  Raoul  is  my  most  intimate  friend  ; ” a remark  at 
which  De  Wardes  bowed. 

The  conversation  terminated  there,  although  De  Guiche 
tried  his  utmost  to  draw  out  De  Wardes’  secret  from  him  ; 
but  doubtless  that  young  gentleman  had  determined  to 
say  nothing  further,  and  he  remained  impenetrable.  De 
Guiche  therefore  promised  himself  a more  satisfactory 
result  with  Raoul. 

In  the  mean  time  they  had  reached  the  Palais-Royal, 
which  was  surrounded  by  a crowd  of  lookers-on.  Mon- 
sieur’s household  awaited  his  orders  to  mount  their 
horses,  and  form  part  of  the  escort  of  the  ambassadors 
to  whom  had  been  intrusted  the  care  of  bringing  the 
young  princess  to  Paris. 

The  brilliant  display  of  horses,  arms,  and  liveries  af- 
forded some  compensation  in  those  times,  thanks  to  the 
kindly  feelings  of  the  people  and  to  the  traditions  of  deep 
devotion  to  their  sovereigns,  for  the  enormous  expenses 
charged  upon  the  taxes.  Mazarin  had  said,  “ Let  them 
sing,  provided  they  pay;”  while  Louis  XIV.’s  remark 
was,  “ Let  them  look.”  Sight  had  replaced  the  voice  ; the 
people  could  still  look,  but  they  could  no  longer  sing. 

M.  de  Guiche  left  De  Wardes  and  Malicorne  at  the  foot 


320 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


of  the  grand  staircase,  while  he  himself,  who  shared  the 
favor  of  Monsieur  with  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  who 
always  smiled  at  him  most  affectionately  though  he  could 
not  endure  him,  went  straight  to  the  prince’s  apartments, 
and  found  him  engaged  in  admiring  himself  in  the  glass 
and  putting  rouge  on  his  face.  In  a corner  of  the  room 
the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  was  extended  full  length  upon 
some  cushions,  having  just  had  his  long  blond  hair  curled, 
with  which  he  was  playing  after  the  manner  of  a woman. 

The  prince  turned  round  as  the  count  entered,  and 
perceiving  who  it  was,  said  : “ Ah  ! is  that  you,  Quiche  1 
Come  here,  and  tell  me  the  truth.” 

“ You  know,  my  Lord,  it  is  one  of  my  defects  to  speak 
the  truth.” 

“ Fancy,  Quiche,  how  that  wicked  chevalier  has  an- 
noyed me.” 

The  chevalier  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

“Why,  how  is  that]”  inquired  De  Quiche.  “That  is 
not  customary  with  Monsieur  the  Chevalier.” 

“ Well,  He  pretends,”  continued  the  prince,  “that  Ma- 
demoiselle Henrietta  is  better  looking  as  a woman  than  I 
am  as  a man.” 

“ Do  not  forget,  my  Lord,”  said  De  Quiche,  frowning 
slightly,  “that  you  required  me  to  speak  the  truth.” 

“Certainly,”  said  the  prince,  almost  trembling. 

“Well,  and  I shall  tell  it  you  ” 

“ Do  not  be  in  a hurry,  Guiche  !”  exclaimed  the  prince  ; 
“you  have  plenty  of  time.  Look  at  me  attentively,  and 
try  to  recollect  Madame.  Besides,  here  is  her  portrait ; 
look  at  it ; ” and  he  held  out  to  him  a miniature  of  the 
finest  possible  execution. 

De  Guiche  took  it,  and  looked  at  it  for  a long  time 
attentively.  “ Upon  my  honor,  my  Lord,  this  is  indeed 
a most  lovely  face.” 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 


321 


“ But  look  at  me,  Count,  look  at  me  ! ” said  the  prince, 
endeavoring  to  direct  upon  himself  the  attention  of  the 
count,  who  was  completely  absorbed  in  contemplation  of 
the  portrait. 

“ It  is  wonderful,”  murmured  De  Guiche. 

“ Beally,  one  would  almost  imagine  you  had  never  seen 
this  little  girl  before.’5 

“ It  is  true,  my  Lord,  I have  seen  her  ; but  it  was  five 
years  ago,  and  there  is  a great  difference  between  a child 
of  twelve  years  and  a young  girl  of  seventeen.’5 
“ Well,  what  is  your  opinion]  Speak  out ! 55 
“ My  opinion  is  that  the  portrait  must  be  flattering, 
my  Lord.” 

“ Of  that,”  said  the  prince,  triumphantly,  “ there  can 
be  no  doubt ; but  let  us  suppose  that  it  is  not  flattering, 
what  would  your  opinion  be  ] ” 

“ My  Lord,  your  Highness  is  exceedingly  happy  to  have 
so  charming  a bride.” 

“ Very  well ; that  is  your  opinion  of  her,  but  now  of  me.” 
“My  opinion,  my  Lord,  is  that  you  are  far  too  hand- 
some for  a man.” 

The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  burst  out  laughing.  The 
prince  understood  how  severe  towards  himself  this  opin- 
ion of  the  Comte  de  Guiche  was,  and  he  looked  somewhat 
displeased,  saying,  “My  friends  are  not  over-indulgent.” 
De  Guiche  looked  at  the  portrait  again,  and  after  a few 
seconds  of  contemplation,  returned  it  with  apparent  un- 
willingness to  Monsieur,  saying,  “ Most  decidedly,  my 
Lord,  1 should  rather  prefer  to  look  ten  times  at  your 
Highness  than  to  look  at  Madame  once  again.” 

Doubtless  the  chevalier  detected  some  mystery  in  these 
words,  which  were  incomprehensible  to  the  prince,  for  he 
exclaimed,  “Very  well;  get  married  yourself.” 

Monsieur  continued  rouging  himself;  and  when  he  had 
VOL.  II. — 21 


322 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


finished,  looked  at  the  portrait  again,  once  more  turned 
to  admire  himself  in  the  glass,  and  smiled,  and  no  doubt 
was  satisfied  with  the  comparison.  “ You  are  very  kind 
to  have  come,”  he  said  to  De  Guiche ; “ I feared  you 
would  leave  without  coming  to  bid  me  adieu.” 

“ Your  Highness  knows  me  too  well  to  believe  me 
capable  of  so  great  a disrespect.” 

Besides,  I suppose  you  have  something  to  ask  from 
me  before  leaving  Paris  1 ” 

“ Your  Highness  has  indeed  guessed  correctly,  for  I 
have  a request  to  make.” 

“ Very  good  ; what  is  it  1 ” 

The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  immediately  became  all  eyes 
and  ears,  for  he  regarded  every  favor  conferred  upon  an- 
other as  a robbery  committed  against  himself.  And  as 
De  Guiche  hesitated,  the  prince  said  : “ If  it  be  money, 
nothing  could  be  more  fortunate,  for  I am  tremendously 
rich  ; the  superintendent  of  the  finances  has  sent  me 
fifty  thousand  pistoles.” 

“ I thank  your  Highness ; but  it  is  not  an  affair  of 
money.” 

“ What  is  it,  then  1 Tell  me.” 

“ The  appointment  of  a maid  of  honor.” 

“ Tiidieu  ! Guiche,  what  a patron  you  have  become  ! ” 
said  the  prince,  disdainfully ; “ you  never  speak  of  any- 
thing else  now  but  young  misses.” 

The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  smiled,  for  he  knew  very 
well  that  nothing  displeased  the  prince  more  than  to  show 
any  interest  in  ladies.  “ My  Lord,”  said  the  count,  “ it 
is  not  I who  am  directly  interested  in  the  person  of  whom 
I have  just  spoken  ; I am  acting  on  behalf  of  one  of  my 
friends.” 

“ Ah  ! that  is  different ; what  is  the  name  of  the  young 
lady  in  whom  your  friend  is  Interested!  ” 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 


323 


“ Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de  la  Valliere ; 
she  is  already  maid  of  honor  to  the  dowager  princess.’ ’ 

“ Why,  she  is  lame,”  said  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine, 
stretching  himself  on  his  cushions. 

“ Lame,”  repeated  the  prince,  “ and  Madame  to  have 
her  constantly  before  her  eyes  ? Most  certainly  not ! 
It  may  be  dangerous  for  her  when  in  an  interesting 
condition.” 

The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  burst  out  laughing. 

“ Chevalier,”  said  De  Guiche,  “your  conduct  is  ungen- 
erous ; while  I am  soliciting  a favor,  you  do  me  all  the 
mischief  you  can.” 

“Forgive  me,  Count,”  said  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine, 
somewhat  uneasy  at  the  tone  in  which  the  count  had 
emphasized  his  words ; “ but  I had  no  intention  of  doing 
so,  and  I begin  to  believe  that  I have  mistaken  one  young 
lady  for  another.” 

“ There  is  no  doubt  of  it,  Monsieur;  and  I do  not  hes- 
itate to  declare  that  such  is  the  case.” 

“ Do  you  attach  much  importance  to  it,  Guiche  ? ” in- 
quired the  prince. 

“ I do,  my  Lord.” 

“ Well,  you  shall  have  it ; but  ask  me  for  no  more 
appointments,  for  there  are  none  to  give  away.” 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  the  chevalier,  “ midday  already  ; 
that  is  the  hour  fixed  for  the  departure.” 

“You  dismiss  me,  Monsieur ?”  inquired  De  Guiche. 

“ Beally,  Count,  you  treat  me  very  ill  to-day,”  replied 
the  chevalier,  affectionately. 

“ For  heaven’s  sake,  Count,  for  heaven’s  sake,  Cheva- 
lier,” said  Monsieur,  “ do  not  quarrel  so  ! Do  you  not  see 
how  you  are  distressing  me?  ” 

“My  signature?  ” said  De  Guiche. 

“ Take  a blank  appointment  from  that  drawer,  and  give 


324 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


it  to  me.”  Do  Guiche  handed  the  prince  the  document 
indicated,  and  at  the  same  time  presented  him  with  a pen 
already  dipped  in  ink ; whereupon  the  prince  signed. 
“ Here,”  he  said,  returning  him  the  appointment ; “but 
I give  it  on  one  condition.” 

“ Name  it.” 

“ That  you  will  make  friends  with  the  chevalier.” 

“Willingly,”  said  De  Guiche;  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  the  chevalier  with  an  indifference  amounting  to 
contempt. 

“ Adieu,  Count ! ” said  the  chevalier,  without  seeming 
in  any  way  to  have  noticed  his  slight ; “ adieu,  and  bring 
us  back  a princess  who  will  not  chatter  with  her  own 
portrait  too  much.” 

“Yes,  set  off  and  lose  no  time.  By  the  by,  who 
accompany  you  1 ” 

“ Bragelonne  and  De  Wardes.” 

“ Both  excellent  and  fearless  companions.” 

“Too  fearless,”  said  the  chevalier ; “ endeavor  to  bring 
them  both  back,  Count.” 

“Bad  heart,  bad  heart!”  murmured  De  Guiche;  “he 
scents  mischief  everywhere,  and  before  any  one  else  ; ” 
and  taking  leave  of  the  prince,  he  went  out.  As  soon  as 
he  reached  the  vestibule,  he  waved  in  the  air  the  paper 
which  the  prince  had  signed.  Malicorne  hurried  forward, 
and  received  it  trembling  with  delight.  But  after  having 
received  it,  De  Guiche  observed  that  he  still  awaited 
something  further. 

“ Patience,  Monsieur  ! ” he  said  to  Malicorne  ; “ the 

Chevalier  de  Lorraine  was  there,  and  I feared  an  utter 
failure  if  I asked  too  much  at  once.  Wait  until  I return. 
Adieu  ! ” 

“Adieu,  Monsieur  the  Count;  a thousand  thanks!” 
said  Malicorne. 


THE  PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME. 


325 


“ Send  Manicamp  to  me.  By  the  way,  Monsieur,  is  it 
true  that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  is  lame?  ” 

As  De  Guiche  said  this,  a horse  drew  up  behind  him  ; 
and  on  turning  round  he  noticed  that  Bragelonne,  who 
had  just  at  that  moment  entered  the  courtyard,  turned 
suddenly  pale.  The  poor  lover  had  heard  the  remark, 
which  however  was  not  the  case  with  Malicorne,  for  he 
was  already  beyond  the  reach  of  the  count’s  voice. 

“ Why  is  Louise’s  name  spoken  here  ? ” Eaoul  asked 
himself;  “oh!  let  not  De  Wardes,  who  stands  smiling 
yonder,  even  say  a word  about  her  in  my  presence.” 

“ Now,  gentlemen,”  exclaimed  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
“ forward  ! ” 

At  this  moment  the  prince,  who  had  completed  his 
toilet,  appeared  at  the  window,  and  was  immediately 
saluted  by  the  acclamations  of  the  whole  escort ; and  ten 
minutes  afterwards,  banners,  scarfs,  and  plumes  were 
fluttering  and  wTaving  in  the  air,  as  the  cavalcade  galloped 
away. 


326 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

AT  HAVRE. 

This  brilliant  and  gay  company,  animated  with  such 
varied  feelings,  arrived  at  Havre  four  days  after  their 
departure  from  Paris.  It  was  about  five  o’clock  in  the 
afternoon,  and  no  intelligence  had  yet  been  received  of 
Madame.  They  were  soon  engaged  in  quest  of  apart- 
ments ; but  the  greatest  confusion  immediately  ensued 
among  the  masters,  and  violent  quarrels  among  their  at- 
tendants. In  the  midst  of  all  this  disorder  the  Comte  de 
Guiche  fancied  that  he  recognized  Manicamp.  It  was,  in- 
deed, Manicamp  himself ; but  as  Malicorne  had  taken 
possession  of  his  very  best  costume,  he  had  not  been  able 
to  get  any  other  than  a suit  of  violet  velvet  trimmed  with 
silver.  De  Guiche  recognized  him  as  much  by  his  dress 
as  by  his  features,  for  he  had  very  frequently  seen  Mani- 
camp in  this  violet  suit,  which  was  his  last  resource. 
Manicamp  presented  himself  to  the  count  under  an  arch 
of  torches,  which  set  fire  to  rather  than  illuminated  the 
gate  by  which  Havre  is  entered,  and  which  is  situated 
close  to  the  tower  of  Francis  I.  The  count,  remarking 
the  woe-begone  expression  of  Manicamp’s  face,  could  not 
resist  laughing.  “Well,  my  poor  Manicamp,”  he  ex- 
claimed, “ how  violet  you  look  ! Are  you  in  mourning  h ” 
“Yes,”  replied  Manicamp,  “I  am  in  mourning.” 

“For  whom,  or  for  whatl” 

“For  my  blue  and  gold  suit,  which  has  disappeared, 
and  in  the  place  of  which  I could  find  nothing  but  this ; 


AT  HAVRE. 


327 


and  I was  even  obliged  to  economize,  in  order  to  get 
possession  of  it.” 

“ Indeed  ? ” 

“ It  is  singular  you  should  be  astonished  at  that,  since 
you  leave  me  without  any  money.” 

“ At  all  events,  here  you  are,  and  that  is  the  principal 
thing.” 

“ By  the  most  horrible  roads.” 

“ Where  are  you  lodging?” 

“ Lodging?  ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ I am  not  lodging  anywhere.” 

De  Guiche  began  to  laugh.  “Well,  where  do  you  in- 
tend to  lodge  ? ” 

“Where  you  lodge.” 

“But  I don’t  know  where  that  is.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  saying  you  don’t  know  ? ** 

“ Why,  how  is  it  likely  I should  know  where  I am  to 
stay  ? ” 

“ Have  you  not  secured  a hotel  ? ” 

“I?” 

“Yes,  you  or  the  prince.” 

“Neither  of  us  has  thought  of  it.  Havre  is  of  consid- 
erable size,  I suppose ; and  provided  I can  get  a stable  for 
a dozen  horses,  and  a suitable  house  in  a good  quarter  — ” 
“ Oh,  there  are  some  very  excellent  houses.” 

“ Well,  then  — ” 

“But  not  for  us.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  saying  not  for  us  ? — for  whom, 
then?” 

“ For  the  English,  of  course.” 

“ For  the  English  ? ” 

“ Yes  ; the  houses  are  all  taken.” 

“ By  whom  ? ” 


328 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ By  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon  ! ” said  De  Guiche,  whose  atten- 
tion this  name  had  awakened. 

“ Yes,  my  friend,  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  His 
Grace  has  been  preceded  by  a courier,  who  arrived  here 
three  days  ago,  and  immediately  secured  all  the  houses 
fit  for  habitation  which  the  town  possesses.” 

“ Come,  come,  Manicamp,  let  us  understand  each  other.’5 
“Well,  what  I have  told  you  is  clear  enough,  it  seems 
to  me.” 

“But  surely  Buckingham  does  not  occupy  the  whole 
of  Havre  ? ” 

“He  certainly  does  not  occupy  it,  since  he  has  not  yet 
landed;  but  when  once  landed,  he  will  occupy  it.” 

“ Oh  ! oh  ! ” 

“ It  is  quite  clear  you  are  not  acquainted  with  the 
English  ; they  have  a perfect  rage  for  monopolizing 
everything.” 

“ That  may  be  ; but  a man  who  has  the  whole  of  one 
house  contents  himself  with  that,  and  does  not  require 
two.” 

“ Yes  ; but  two  men  ? ” 

“ Be  it  so  ; for  two  men  two  houses,  or  four,  or  six,  or 
ten,  if  you  like  ; but  there  are  a hundred  houses  at  Havre.” 
“Yes,  and  all  the  hundred  are  let.” 

“ Impossible  ! ” 

“ What  an  obstinate  fellow  you  are  ! I tell  you  Buck- 
ingham has  hired  all  the  houses  surrounding  the  one 
which  her  Majesty  the  Queen-dowager  of  England  and 
the  princess  her  daughter  will  inhabit.” 

“ Well,  now,  he  is  an  extraordinary  man,”  said  De 
Wardes,  caressing  his  horse's  neck. 

“ Such  is  the  case,  however,  Monsieur.” 

“ You  are  quite  sure  of  it,  M.  de  Manicamp  V1  and  as 


AT  HAVRE, 


329 


he  put  this  question  he  looked  slyly  at  De  Guiche,  as 
though  to  sound  him  upon  the  degree  of  confidence  to  be 
placed  in  his  friend’s  state  of  mind. 

Meanwhile  the  night  had  closed  in,  and  the  torches, 
pages,  attendants,  squires,  horses,  and  carriages  blocked 
up  the  gate  and  the  square ; the  torches  were  reflected  in 
the  channel,  which  the  rising  tide  was  gradually  filling, 
while  on  the  other  side  of  the  jetty  might  be  perceived 
groups  of  curious  lookers-on,  consisting  of  sailors  and 
townspeople,  who  seemed  anxious  to  miss  nothing  of  the 
spectacle. 

Amid  all  this  hesitation,  Bragelonne,  as  though  a per- 
fect stranger  to  the  scene,  remained  on  his  horse  some- 
what in  the  rear  of  De  Guiche,  and  watched  the  rays  of 
light  reflected  in  the  water,  inhaling  with  delight  the  sea- 
breezes,  and  listening  to  the  waves  which  broke  noisily 
upon  the  pebbles  and  the  sea-weed  of  the  strand,  dashing 
the  spray  into  the  air  with  a roar  which  echoed  in  the 
distance. 

“ But  really,”  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  “ what  could  have 
been  Buckingham’s  motive  for  securing  such  a supply  of 
lodgings  1” 

“ Yes,”  demanded  De  Wardes  ; “ what  reason  has  he  ? ” 
“ A very  excellent  one,”  replied  Manicamp. 

“You  know  what  it  is,  then]” 

“ I fancy  I do.” 

“Tell  us,  then.” 

“ Bend  your  head  down  towards  me.” 

“ What ! can  it  not  be  said  except  in  secrecy 
“You  shall  judge  of  that  yourself.” 

“ Very  well.”  De  Guiche  bent  down. 

“ Love,”  said  Manicamp. 

“ I do  not  understand  you  at  all.” 

“Say,  rather,  you  cannot  understand  me  yet.” 


330 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELOiNNE. 


“ Explain  yourself.” 

“ Very  well!  it  is  quite  certain,  Monsieur  the  Count, 
that  his  royal  Highness  will  be  the  most  unfortunate  of 
husbands.  ” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ] The  Duke  of  Buckingham  — ” 

“ That  name  brings  ill  omen  to  princes  of  the  house  of 
France.’ 1 

“ And  so  the  duke  — ” 

“ Is  madly  in  love  with  the  young  Madame,  so  the 
rumor  runs,  and  will  have  no  one  approach  her  but 
himself.” 

De  Guiche  colored.  “ Thank  you,  thank  you,”  said  he 
to  Manicamp,  grasping  his  hand.  Then,  recovering  him- 
self, he  added,  “For  heaven’s  sake,  Manicamp,  be  careful 
that  this  design  of  Buckingham’s  does  not  reach  the  ears 
of  any  Frenchman  here  ; for  if  so,  the  sun  of  this  country 
will  shine  on  swords  which  do  not  fear  English  steel.” 

“ After  all,”  said  Manicamp,  “ I have  had  no  satisfac- 
tory proof  given  me  of  the  love  in  question,  and  it  may 
be  no  more  than  an  idle  tale.” 

“No,  no,”  said  De  Guiche,  “it  must  be  the  truth;” 
and  despite  his  command  over  himself,  he  clenched  his 
teeth. 

“ Well,”  said  Manicamp,  “ after  all,  what  does  it  mat- 
ter to  you?  What  does  it  matter  to  me  whether  the 
prince  is  to  be  what  the  late  king  was  ? Buckingham  the 
father  for  the  queen,  Buckingham  the  son  for  the  young 
princess.” 

“Manicamp  ! Manicamp  ! ” 

“ It  is  a fact ; or,  at  least,  everybody  says  so.” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  the  count. 

“But  why  silence]”  said  De  Wardes;  “ it  is  a highly 
creditable  circumstance  for  the  French  nation.  Are  not 
you  of  my  opinion,  M.  de  Bragelonne]” 


AT  HAVRE. 


331 


“ To  what  circumstance  do  you  allude  1 ” inquired 
Bragelonne,  with  an  abstracted  air. 

“ That  the  English  should  render  homage  to  the  beauty 
of  our  queens  and  our  princesses.” 

“ Pardon  me,  but  I have  not  been  paying  attention  to 
what  has  passed  ; will  you  oblige  me  by  explaining  ? ” 

“ There  is  no  doubt  it  was  necessary  that  Buckingham 
the  father  should  come  to  Paris,  in  order  that  his  Majesty 
King  Louis  XIII.  should  perceive  that  his  wife  was  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  women  of  the  French  Court ; and  it 
seems  necessary,  at  the  present  time,  that  Buckingham 
the  son  should  consecrate,  in  his  turn,  by  the  devotion  of 
his  worship,  the  beauty  of  a princess  who  has  French 
blood  in  her  veins.  It  will  henceforth  confer  a title  of 
beauty  to  have  inspired  love  across  the  sea.” 

“ Monsieur,”  replied  Bragelonne,  “ I do  not  like  to 
hear  such  matters  treated  so  lightly.  Gentlemen  as  we 
are,  we  should  be  careful  guardians  of  the  honor  of  our 
queens  and  our  princesses.  If  we  jest  at  them,  what  will 
our  servants  do  % ” 

“Ah,  Monsieur/’  said  De  Wardes,  whose  ears  tingled 
at  the  remark,  “how  am  I to  understand  that'?” 

“ In  any  way  you  choose,  Monsieur,”  replied  Bragelonne, 
coldly. 

“ Bragelonne,  Bragelonne  ! ” murmured  De  Guiche. 

“M.  de  Wardes ! ” exclaimed  Manicamp,  noticing  that  the 
young  man  had  spurred  his  horse  close  to  the  side  of  Raoul. 

“Messieurs,  Messieurs,”  said  De  Guiche,  “do  not  sec 
such  an  example  in  public,  in  the  street  too.  De  Wardes, 
you  are  wrong.” 

“ Wrong ! in  what  way,  may  I ask  you  *1  ” 

“ You  are  wrong,  Monsieur,  because  you  are  always 
speaking  ill  of  some  one  or  something  ” replied  Raoul, 
with  undisturbed  composure. 


332 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Be  indulgent,  Raoul ! ” said  De  Guiche,  in  an  undertone. 

“ Pray  do  not  think  of  fighting,”  said  Manicamp,  “ before 
you  have  rested  yourselves ; for  in  that  case  you  will  not 
be  .able  to  do  much.” 

“ Come,  come,”  said  De  Guiche,  “ forward,  Messieurs  ! ” 
and  breaking  through  the  horses  and  attendants,  he 
cleared  the  way  for  himself  through  the  crowd  towards 
the  centre  of  the  square,  followed  by  the  whole  caval- 
cade. A large  gateway  leading  to  a courtyard  was  open. 
De  Guiche  entered  this  courtyard ; and  Bragelonne,  De 
Wardes,  Manicamp,  and  three  or  four  other  gentlemen 
followed  him.  A sort  of  council  of  war  was  held,  and  the 
means  to  be  employed  for  saving  the  dignity  of  the  em- 
bassy were  deliberated  upon.  Bragelonne  was  of  opinion 
that  the  right  of  priority  should  be  respected,  while  De 
Wardes  suggested  that  the  town  should  be  sacked.  This 
latter  proposition  appeared  to  Manicamp  somewhat  rash, 
he  proposing  instead  that  they  should  sleep  on  the  matter. 
This  was  the  wisest  thing  to  do  ; but,  unhappily,  to  follow 
his  advice,  two  things  only  were  wanting,  — namely,  a 
house  and  beds. 

De  Guiche  considered  for  a while,  and  then  said  aloud, 
“ Let  him  who  loves  me,  follow  me  ! ” 

“ The  attendants  also  % ” inquired  a page  who  had 
approached  the  group. 

“ Every  one  ! ” exclaimed  the  impetuous  young  man. 
“ Manicamp,  show  us  the  way  to  the  house  destined  for 
her  royal  Highness’s  residence.” 

Without  in  any  way  divining  the  count’s  project,  his 
friends  followed  him,  accompanied  by  a crowd  of  people, 
whose  acclamations  and  delight  seemed  a happy  omen  for 
the  successof  the  still  uncomprehended  project  which  these 
ardent  young  men  were  pursuing.  The  wind  was  blowing 
stiffly  from  the  harbor,  and  moaning  in  fitful  gusts. 


AT  SEA. 


333 


CHAPTER  XXXYI. 

AT  SEA. 

The  following  day  was  somewhat  more  calm,  although 
the  wind  still  continued  to  blow.  The  sun  had,  however, 
risen  through  a bank  of  reddened  clouds,  tingeing  with  its 
crimson  rays  the  crests  of  the  black  waves.  Watch  was 
impatiently  kept  from  the  different  look-outs.  Towards 
eleven  o’clock  in  the  morning  a ship,  with  sails  full  set, 
was  signalled ; two  others  followed  at  the  distance  of 
about  half  a knot.  They  approached  like  arrows  shot 
from  the  bow  of  a sturdy  archer  ; and  yet  the  sea  ran  so 
high  that  their  speed  took  nothing  from  the  rolling  of  the 
billows  in  which  the  vessels  were  plunging  first  in  one 
direction  and  then  in  another.  The  English  fleet  was 
soon  recognized  by  the  lines  of  the  ships  and  by  the 
color  of  their  pennants  ; the  one  which  had  the  princess 
on  board  and  carried  the  admiral’s  flag  preceded  the 
others. 

The  rumor  now  spread  that  the  princess  was  arriving- 
The  entire  French  Court  ran  to  the  harbor,  while  the 
quays  and  jetties  were  soon  covered  with  crowds  of 
people.  Two  hours  afterward,  the  other  vessels  had 
overtaken  the  flag-ship ; and  the  three,  not  venturing 
perhaps  to  enter  the  narrow  entrance  of  the  harbor, 
cast  anchor  between  Havre  and  La  Heve.  When  this 
manoeuvre  had  been  accomplished,  the  vessel  which  bore 
the  admiral  saluted  France  with  twelve  discharges  of 
cannon,  which  were  returned,  shot  for  shot,  from  Fort 
Francis  I.  Immediately  afterward  a hundred  boats  were 


334 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


launched ; they  were  draped  with  the  richest  fabrics, 
and  were  destined  for  the  conveyance  of  the  French 
nobility  to  the  vessels  at  anchor.  But  when  it  was  ob- 
served that  even  inside  the  harbor  the  boats  were  tossed 
to  and  fro,  and  that  beyond  the  jetty  the  waves  rose 
mountains  high,  dashing  upon  the  strand  with  a terrible 
uproar,  it  was  easily  seen  that  not  one  of  those  frail  boats 
would  be  able  to  make  a fourth  part  of  the  distance  be- 
tween the  shore  and  the  vessels  at  anchor  without  being 
swamped.  A pilot-boat,  however,  notwithstanding  the 
wind  and  the  sea,  was  getting  ready  to  leave  the  harbor 
to  place  itself  at  the  disposal  of  the  English  admiral. 

De  Guiche,  who  had  been  looking  among  the  different 
boats  for  one  stronger  than  the  others,  which  might  offer 
a chance  of  reaching  the  English  vessels,  perceiving  the 
pilot-boat  getting  ready  to  start,  said  to  Raoul  : “ Do  you 
not  think,  Raoul,  that  intelligent  and  vigorous  men  like 
us  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  retreat  before  the  brute  force 
of  wind  and  waves'?” 

“ That  is  precisely  the  reflection  I was  silently  making 
to  myself,”  replied  Bragelonne. 

“ Shall  we  get  into  that  boat,  then,  and  push  off]  Will 
you  come,  De  Wardes]  ” 

“ Take  care,  or  you  will  get  drowned,”  said  Manicamp. 

“And  for  no  purpose,”  said  De  Wardes ; “ for  with  the 
wind  dead  against  you,  as  it  will  be,  you  will  never  reach 
the  vessels.” 

“ You  decline,  then  ] ” 

“ Assuredly  I do.  I would  willingly  risk  and  lose  my 
life  in  an  encounter  with  men,”  he  said,  glancing  at 
Bragelonne ; “ but  as  to  fighting  with  oars  against  waves, 
I have  no  taste  for  that.” 

“ And  for  myself,”  said  Manicamp,  “ even  were  I to 
succeed  in  reaching  the  ships,  I should  not  be  indifferent 


AT  SEA. 


335 


to  the  loss  of  the  only  good  dress  which  I have  left,  — 
since  salt  water  would  splash  and  spoil  it.” 

“ You,  then,  decline  also  ] ” exclaimed  De  Guiche. 

“ Decidedly  I do  ; I beg  you  to  understand  that  most 
distinctly.” 

“But,”  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  “look,  De  Wardes, — 
look,  Manicamp,  look  ! Yonder  the  princesses  are  gazing 
at  us  from  the  poop  of  the  admiral’s  vessel.” 

“ An  additional  reason,  my  dear  fellow,  why  we  should 
not  make  ourselves  ridiculous  by  taking  a bath  while  they 
are  looking  on.” 

“Is  that  your  last  word,  Manicamp]  ” 

“Yes.” 

“ And  yours,  De  Wardes  ] ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then  I will  go  alone.” 

“Not  so,”  said  Baoul,  “for  I shall  accompany  youj  I 
thought  that  was  understood.” 

The  fact  is,  that  while  Baoul,  unimpassioned,  had  coolly 
measured  the  risk  to  be  run,  and  had  seen  how  imminent 
the  danger  was,  he  was  yet  willing  to  accept  a peril  from 
which  De  Wardes  had  recoiled. 

The  boat  was  about  to  set  off  when  De  Guiche  called 
to  the  pilot.  “ Holloa,  the  boat ! ” said  he  ; “ we  want  two 
places;”  and  wrapping  five  or  six  pistoles  in  paper  he 
threw  them  from  the  quay  into  the  boat. 

“ It  seems  you  are  not  afraid  of  salt  water,  young  gen- 
tlemen,” said  the  skipper. 

“We  are  afraid  of  nothing,”  answered  De  Guiche. 

“ Come  along,  then  ! ” 

The  pilot  came  alongside ; and  the  two  young  men,  one 
after  the  other,  with  equal  agility  jumped  into  the  boat. 
“ Courage,  my  men  ! ” said  De  Guiche.  “ There  are  twenty 
pistoles  left  in  this  purse ; and  as  soon  as  we  reach  the 


336 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


admiral’s  vessel  they  are  yours.”  The  sailors  bent  them- 
selves to  their  oars,  and  the  boat  bounded  over  the  crest 
of  the  waves. 

The  interest  taken  in  this  hazardous  expedition  was 
universal ; the  whole  population  of  Havre  crowded  on  the 
jetties,  and  every  look  was  directed  towards  the  boat.  At 
one  moment  the  frail  craft  remained  suspended  upon  the 
crest  of  the  foaming  waves,  then  suddenly  glided  down- 
ward towards  the  bottom  of  a roaring  abyss,  where  it 
seemed  utterly  lost.  Nevertheless,  at  the  end  of  an  hour’s 
struggling  with  the  waves,  it  reached  the  spot  where  the 
admiral’s  vessel  was  anchored,  and  from  the  side  of  which 
two  boats  had  already  been  despatched  to  their  aid. 

Upon  the  quarter-deck  of  the  flag-ship,  sheltered  by  a 
canopy  of  velvet  and  ermine,  which  was  suspended  by 
stout  supports,  Madame  Henrietta,  the  queen-dowager, 
and  the  young  princess  — with  the  admiral,  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk,  standing  beside  them  — watched  with  alarm 
this  slender  boat,  at  one  moment  carried  to  the  heavens, 
and  the  next  buried  beneath  the  waves,  against  whose 
dark  sail  the  noble  figures  of  the  two  French  gentlemen 
stood  forth  in  relief  like  two  luminous  apparitions.  The 
crew,  leaning  against  the  bulwarks  and  clinging  to  the 
shrouds,  cheered  the  courage  of  the  two  daring  young 
men,  the  skill  of  the  pilot,  and  the  strength  of  the  sailors. 
They  were  received  at  the  side  of  the  vessel  with  a shout 
of  triumph.  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  a handsome  young 
man,  from  twenty-six  to  twenty-eight  years  of  age, 
advanced  to  meet  them.  De  Guiche  and  Bragelonne 
lightly  mounted  the  ladder  on  the  starboard  side,  and, 
conducted  by  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  approached  to  offer 
their  homage  to  the  princesses.  Respect,  and  yet  more 
a certain  apprehension  for  which  he  could  not  account, 
had  hitherto  restrained  the  Comte  de  Guiche  from  look- 


AT  SEA. 


337 


in g at  the  young  princess  attentively,  who  however  had 
observed  him  immediately,  and  had  asked  her  mother, 
“ Is  not  that  Monsieur  in  the  boat  yonder'?”  Madame 
Henrietta,  who  knew  Monsieur  better  than  her  daughter 
did,  had  smiled  at  the  mistake  her  vanity  had  led  her 
into,  and  had  answered,  “ No  ; it  is  only  M.  de  Guiehe,  his 
favorite.”  The  princess,  at  this  reply,  had  been  obliged 
to  check  an  instinctive  tenderness  of  feeling  which  the 
courage  displayed  by  the  count  had  awakened. 

At  the  very  moment  the  princess  had  put  this  question 
to  her  mother,  De  Guiehe  had  at  last  summoned  courage 
to  raise  hie  eyes  to  her,  and  could  compare  the  original 
with  the  portrait  he  had  so  lately  seen.  No  sooner  had 
he  remarked  her  fair  face,  her  eyes  so  full  of  animation, 
her  beautiful  brown  hair,  her  expressive  lips,  and  that 
gesture,  so  eminently  royal,  which  seemed  to  thank  and 
to  encourage  him  at  one  and  the  same  time,  than  he  was 
for  a moment  so  overcome  with  emotion  that  had  it  not 
been  for  Raoul,  on  whose  arm  he  leaned,  he  would  have 
tottered.  His  friend’s  amazed  look  and  the  encouraging 
gesture  of  the  queen  restored  De  Guiehe  to  his  self- 
possession.  In  a few  words  he  explained  his  mission,  told 
how  he  had  become  the  envoy  of  his  royal  Highness,  and 
saluted,  according  to  their  rank  and  the  reception  they 
gave  him,  the  admiral  and  the  different  English  noblemen 
who  were  grouped  around  the  princesses. 

Raoul  was  then  presented,  and  was  most  graciously  re- 
ceived. The  part  that  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  had  taken 
in  the  restoration  of  King  Charles  II.  was  known  to  all ; 
and,  more  than  that,  it  was  the  count  who  had  been 
charged  with  the  negotiation  of  the  marriage  by  reason 
of  which  the  granddaughter  of  Henry  IY.  was  now  re- 
turning to  France.  Raoul  spoke  English  perfectly,  and 
constituted  himself  his  friend’s  interpreter  with  the  young 
vol.  n.  — 22 


338 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


English  noblemen,  who  were  indifferently  acquainted  with 
the  French  language. 

At  this  moment  a young  man  came  forward,  of  ex- 
tremely handsome  features,  whose  dress  and  arms  were 
remarkable  for  their  rich  magnificence.  He  approached 
the  princesses,  who  were  engaged  in  conversation  with  the 
Dukeof  Norfolk,  and  in  a voice  which  ill  concealed  his  impa- 
tience, said,  “My  ladies,  it  is  now  time  to  go  ashore.” 

The  young  princess  rose  from  her  seat  at  this  invita- 
tion, and  was  about  to  take  the  hand  which  the  young- 
nobleman  had  extended  to  her  with  an  eagerness  which 
arose  from  a variety  of  motives,  when  the  admiral  ad- 
vanced between  them,  observing:  “A  moment,  if  you 
please,  my  Lord  Buckingham.  It  is  not  possible  for 
ladies  to  disembark  just  now,  the  sea  is  too  rough  ; but 
it  is  probable  the  wind  may  abate  towards  four  o’clock, 
and  the  landing  will  not  be  effected,  therefore,  until  this 
evening.” 

“ Allow  me,  my  Lord,”  said  Buckingham,  with  an  irri- 
tation of  manner  which  he  did  not  seek  to  disguise.  “ You 
detain  these  ladies,  and  you  have  no  right  to  do  so.  One 
of  them,  alas ! now  belongs  to  France,  and  you  perceive 
that  France  claims  them  by  the  voice  of  her  ambassa- 
dors ; ” and  at  the  same  moment  he  indicated  Baoul  and 
De  Guiche,  whom  he  saluted. 

“ I cannot  suppose  that  it  enters  into  the  intentions  of 
these  gentlemen  to  expose  the  lives  of  the  princesses,” 
replied  the  admiral. 

“ My  Lord,  these  gentlemen  arrived  here  safely,  not- 
withstanding the  wind ; allow  me  to  believe  that  the 
danger  will  not  be  greater  for  these  ladies  when  the  wind 
will  be  in  their  favor.” 

“ These  gentlemen  are  very  courageous,”  said  the  ad- 
miral. “ You  may  have  observed  that  there  was  on  shore 


AT  SEA. 


‘dod 

a great  number  of  persons  who  did  not  venture  to  ac- 
company them.  Moreover,  the  desire  which  they  had  to 
pay  their  homage  with  the  least  possible  delay  to  Madame 
and  her  illustrious  mother  induced  them  to  brave  the  sea, 
which  is  very  tempestuous  to-day,  even  for  sailors.  These 
gentlemen,  however,  whom  I recommend  as  an  example 
for  my  officers  to  follow,  can  hardly  be  so  for  these  ladies.” 

Madame  glanced  at  the  Comte  de  Guiche,  and  per- 
ceived that  his  face  was  burning  with  confusion.  This 
look  had  escaped  Buckingham,  who  had  eyes  for  nothing 
but  watching  Norfolk,  of  whom  he  was  evidently  very 
jealous,  and  seemed  anxious  to  remove  the  princesses  from 
the  deck  of  a vessel  where  the  admiral  reigned  supreme. 

“ In  that  case,”  returned  Buckingham,  “I  appeal  to 
Madame  herself.” 

“ And  I,  my  Lord,”  retorted  the  admiral,  “ appeal  to 
my  own  conscience,  and  to  my  own  sense  of  responsibility. 
I have  undertaken  to  convey  Madame  safe  and  sound  to 
France,  and  I shall  keep  my  promise.” 

“ Yet,  sir  — ” continued  Buckingham. 

“ My  Lord,  permit  me  to  remind  you  that  I alone  com- 
mand here.” 

“Are  you  aware  what  you  are  saying,  my  Lord  1 ” 
replied  Buckingham,  haughtily. 

“ Perfectly  so,  and  I repeat  it.  I alone  command  here  : 
all  yield  obedience  to  me ; the  sea  and  the  winds,  the 
ships  and  men  too.” 

This  remark  was  made  in  a dignified  and  authoritative 
manner.  Raoul  observed  its  effect  upon  Buckingham, 
who  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and  leaned  against  one 
of  the  poles  of  the  canopy  to  prevent  himself  from  fall- 
ing ; his  eyes  became  bloodshot,  and  the  hand  which  he 
did  not  need  for  his  support  wandered  towards  the  hilt 
of  his  sword. 


340 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“My  Lord,”  said  the  queen,  “permit  me  to  observe 
that  I agree  in  every  particular  with  the  advice  of  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk ; even  if  the  heavens,  instead  of  being 
clouded  as  they  are  at  the  present  moment,  were  perfectly 
serene  and  propitious,  we  could  afford  to  bestow  a few 
hours  upon  the  officer  who  has  conducted  us  so  success- 
fully, and  with  such  extreme  attention,  to  the  French 
coast,  where  he  is  to  take  leave  of  us.” 

Buckingham,  instead  of  replying,  seemed  to  seek  coun- 
sel from  the  expression  of  Madame’s  face.  She,  however, 
half  concealed  beneath  the  curtains  of  velvet  and  gold 
which  sheltered  her,  had  not  listened  to  the  dispute, 
having  been  occupied  in  watching  the  Comte  de  Guiche, 
who  was  conversing  with  Baoul.  This  was  a fresh  blow 
for  Buckingham,  who  fancied  he  perceived  in  Madame 
Henrietta’s  look  a deeper  feeling  than  that  of  curiosity. 
He  withdrew,  almost  tottering  in  his  gait,  and  nearly 
stumbled  against  the  mainmast. 

“ The  duke  has  not  acquired  a steady  footing  yet,”  said 
the  queen-mother,  in  French ; “and  that  is  doubtless  his 
reason  for  wishing  to  find  himself  on  firm  land  again.” 
The  young  man,  overhearing  this  remark,  turned  sud- 
denly pale,  and  letting  his  hands  fall  in  great  discourage- 
ment by  his  side,  retired,  mingling  in  one  sigh  his  old 
affection  and  his  new  hatreds.  The  admiral,  however^ 
without  taking  any  further  notice  of  Buckingham’s  ill- 
humor,  led  the  princesses  into  the  quarter-deck  cabin, 
where  dinner  was  served  with  a magnificence  worthy  in 
every  respect  of  his  guests.  The  admiral  seated  himself 
at  the  right  hand  of  the  princess,  and  placed  the  Comte 
de  Guiche  on  her  left.  This  was  the  place  Buckingham 
usually  occupied;  and  when  he  entered  the  cabin,  how 
profound  was  his  unhappiness  at  seeing  himself  banished 
by  etiquette  from  the  presence  of  the  lady  to  whom  he 


AT  SEA. 


341 


owed  respect,  to  a position  inferior  to  that  which  by  his 
rank  he  was  entitled  to  occupy.  De  Guiche,  on  the 
other  hand,  paler  still  perhaps  from  happiness  than  his 
rival  was  from  anger,  seated  himself  tremblingly  next 
the  princess,  whose  silken  robe,  as  it  lightly  touched 
him,  caused  a tremor  of  inconceivable  happiness  to  pass 
through  his  whole  frame. 

The  repast  finished,  Buckingham  darted  forward  to 
hand  Madame  Henrietta  from  the  table ; but  this  time 
it  was  De  Guiche’s  turn  to  give  the  duke  a lesson. 
“Have  the  goodness,  my  Lord/’  said  he,  “from  this 
moment  not  to  interpose  between  her  royal  Highness 
and  myself.  From  this  moment,  indeed,  her  royal  High- 
ness belongs  to  France ; and  when  her  royal  Highness 
honors  me  by  touching  my  hand,  it  is  the  hand  of  his 
royal  Highness  Monsieur,  the  brother  of  the  King  of 
France,  that  she  touches.” 

And  saying  this,  he  presented  his  hand  to  Madame 
Henrietta  with  such  marked  timidity,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  a nobleness  of  mien  so  intrepid,  that  a murmur 
of  admiration  rose  from  the  English,  while  a groan  of 
despair  escaped  from  Buckingham’s  lips. 

Baoul,  who  loved,  comprehended  it  all.  He  fixed  upon 
his  friend  one  of  those  profound  looks  which  a friend  or  a 
mother  can  alone  extend,  either  as  a protector  or  a guar- 
dian, over  the  child  or  the  friend  about  to  stray  from  the 
right  path. 

About  two  o’clock  in  the  afternoon  the  sun  shone  forth, 
the  wind  subsided,  the  sea  became  smooth  as  a crystal 
mirror,  and  the  fog  which  had  shrouded  the  coast  disap- 
peared like  a veil  withdrawn  from  before  it.  The  smil- 
ing hills  of  France  then  appeared  to  the  view,  with  their 
numerous  white  houses  rendered  more  conspicuous  by  the 
bright  green  of  the  trees  or  the  clear  blue  sky. 


342 


THE  V1C0MTE  HE  BKAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XXXYII. 

THE  TENTS. 

The  admiral,  as  has  been  seen,  had  determined  to  pay  no 
further  attention  to  Buckingham’s  threatening  glances 
and  fits  of  passion.  In  fact,  from  the  moment  they 
left  England  he  had  gradually  and  quietly  accustomed 
himself  to  it.  De  Guiche  had  not  yet  in  any  way  re- 
marked the  animosity  which  appeared  to  influence  that 
young  nobleman  against  him,  but  he  felt  instinctively 
that  there  could  be  no  sympathy  between  himself  and  the 
favorite  of  Charles  II.  The  queen-mother,  with  greater 
experience  and  calmer  judgment,  perceived  the  exact  posi- 
tion of  affairs,  and  as  she  discerned  its  danger  was  pre- 
pared to  meet  it  whenever  the  proper  moment  should 
arrive.  That  moment  came.  Quiet  had  been  everywhere 
restored,  except  in  Buckingham’s  heart,  and  he  in  his  im- 
patience addressed  himself  to  the  princess  in  a low  voice  : 
u For  heaven’s  sake,  Madame,  I implore  you  to  hasten 
your  disembarkation.  Do  you  not  perceive  how  that  fop- 
pish Duke  of  Norfolk  is  killing  me  with  his  attentions 
and  devotions  to  you  1 ” 

Henrietta  heard  this  remark.  She  smiled,  and  with- 
out turning  her  head  towards  him,  but  giving  only  to  the 
tone  of  her  voice  that  inflection  of  gentle  reproach  and 
languid  impertinence  with  which  coquetry  so  well  knows 
how  to  give  compliance  while  yet  seeming  to  utter  a pro- 
hibition, she  murmured,  “ I have  already  told  you,  my 
Lord,  that  you  must  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses.” 


THE  TENTS. 


348 


Not  a single  detail,  we  have  already  said,  escaped 
Raoul’s  attention : he  had  heard  both  Buckingham’s  en- 
treaty and  the  princess’s  reply ; he  had  observed  Buck- 
ingham draw  back,  had  heard  his  deep  sigh,  and  saw  him 
pass  his  hand  across  his  face.  He  understood  everything, 
and  trembled  as*  he  reflected  on  the  position  of  affairs, 
and  the  state  of  the  minds  of  those  about  him.  At  last 
the  admiral,  with  studied  delay,  gave  the  final  directions 
for  the  departure  of  the  boats.  Buckingham  heard  the 
directions  given  with  such  an  exhibition  of  delight  that 
a stranger  would  almost  have  imagined  the  young  man’s 
reason  was  affected.  At  the  command  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  a large  boat  or  barge,  decked  with  flags  and 
capable  of  holding  twenty  rowers  and  fifteen  passengers, 
was  slowly  lowered  from  the  side  of  the  admiral’s  vessel. 
This  truly  royal  barge  was  carpeted  with  velvet,  and  deco- 
rated with  coverings  embroidered  with  the  arms  of  Eng- 
land and  with  garlands  of  flowers ; for  at  that  time  the 
language  of  allegory  was  freely  employed  even  on  the 
occasion  of  a political  alliance. 

No  sooner  was  the  barge  afloat  — the  rowers,  with  oars 
uplifted,  awaiting,  like  soldiers  presenting  arms,  the  em- 
barkation of  the  princess  — than  Buckingham  ran  forward 
to  the  ladder  to  take  his  place  in  it.  But  the  queen 
stopped  him.  u My  Lord,”  she  said,  “it  is  hardly  be- 
coming that  you  should  allow  my  daughter  and  myself 
to  land,  without  having  previously  ascertained  that  our 
apartments  are  properly  prepared.  I beg  your  Lordship 
to  be  good  enough  therefore  to  precede  us  to  Havre,  and 
to  make  sure  that  everything  is  in  proper  order  on  our 
arrival.” 

This  was  a fresh  disappointment  for  the  duke,  and  still 
more  so  since  it  was  so  unexpected.  He  stammered, 
colored  violently,  but  could  not  reply  He  had  thought 


344 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


he  might  be  able  to  keep  near  the  princess  during  the 
passage  to  the  shore,  and  by  this  means  to  enjoy  to  the 
very  last  moment  the  brief  period  which  fortune  still  re- 
served for  him.  The  order,  however,  was  explicit;  and 
the  admiral,  who  heard  it  given,  immediately  called  out, 
“ Launch  the  ship’s  gig!”  The  order  w*as  executed  with 
that  celerity  which  distinguishes  every  manoeuvre  on 
board  a man-of-war. 

Buckingham,  in  utter  hopelessness,  cast  a look  of  de- 
spair at  the  princess,  of  supplication  towards  the  queen, 
and  directed  a glance  full  of  anger  towards  the  admiral. 
The  princess  pretended  not  to  notice  him,  while  the 
queen  turned  aside  her  head,  and  the  admiral  laughed 
outright,  at  the  sound  of  which  Buckingham  seemed 
ready  to  spring  upon  him. 

The  queen- mother  rose,  and,  with  a tone  of  authority, 
said,  “ Pray,  set  off,  sir ! ” 

The  young  duke  hesitated,  looked  around  him,  and 
with  a last  effort,  half  choked  by  contending  emotions, 
said,  “ And  you,  Messieurs,  M.  de  Guiclie  and  M.  de 
Bragelonne,  do  not  you  accompany  me  ? ” 

De  Guiche  bowed  and  said,  “ Both  M.  de  Bragelonne 
and  myself  await  her  Majesty’s  orders ; whatever  may  be 
the  commands  she  imposes  on  us,  we  shall  obey  them.” 
Saying  this,  he  looked  towards  the  princess,  who  cast 
down  her  eyes. 

“ Your  Grace  will  remember,”  said  the  queen,  “ that 
M.  de  Guiche  is  here  to  represent  Monsieur;  it  is  he  who 
will  do  the  honors  of  France,  as  you  have  done  those  of 
England.  His  presence,  then,  cannot  be  dispensed  with  ; 
besides,  we  owe  him  this  slight  favor  for  the  courage  he 
displayed  in  venturing  to  seek  us  in  such  terrible  weather.” 

Buckingham  opened  his  lips  as  if  about  to  speak  ; but 
whether  thoughts  or  expressions  failed  him,  not  a syllable 


TIIE  TENTS. 


345 


escaped  them ; and  turning  away,  as  though  he  were  out 
of  his  mind,  he  leaped  from  the  vessel  into  the  boat. 
The  sailors  were  just  in  time  to  catch  hold  of  him  and  to 
steady  themselves,  for  his  weight  and  the  rebound  had 
almost  upset  the  boat. 

“Surely  my  Lord  is  mad,”  said  the  admiral  aloud  to 
Raoul. 

“ I am  uneasy  on  my  Lord's  account,”  replied  Bragelonne. 

While  the  boat  was  moving  towards  the  shore,  the  duke 
kept  his  eyes  immovably  fixed  upon  the  admiral’s  ship, 
like  a miser  torn  away  from  his  coffers,  or  like  a mother 
separated  from  her  child,  about  to  be  led  away  to  death. 
No  one,  however,  acknowledged  his  signals,  his  gesticula- 
tions, or  his  pitiful  gestures.  In  very  anguish  of  mind 
he  sank  down  on  a seat,  burying  his  hands  in  his  hair ; 
while  the  boat,  impelled  by  the  exertions  of  the  heedless 
sailors,  flew  over  the  waves.  On  his  arrival  he  was  in 
such  a state  of  apathy  that  had  he  not  been  received  at 
the  harbor  by  the  messenger  whom  he  had  directed  to 
precede  him  as  quartermaster,  he  would  hardly  have  been 
able  to  ask  his  way.  Having  once,  however,  reached  the 
house  which  had  been  set  apart  for  him,  he  shut  himself 
up  like  Achilles  in  his  tent. 

The  barge  bearing  the  princesses  quitted  the  admiral’s 
vessel  at  the  very  moment  Buckingham  had  landed.  It 
was  followed  by  another  boat,  filled  with  officers,  court- 
iers, and  zealous  friends.  The  whole  population  of  Havre, 
having  hastily  embarked  in  fishing-boats  or  flat-boats  or 
long  Norman  pinnaces,  set  off*t.o  meet  the  royal  barge. 
The  cannon  from  the  forts  fired  salutes,  which  were  re- 
turned by  the  flag-ship  and  the  two  other  vessels,  and 
the  clouds  of  flame  from  the  belching  mouths  of  the 
cannon  floated  in  white  vapor  over  the  waves,  and  then 
disappeared  in  the  azure  of  the  sky. 


346 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


The  princess  landed  at  the  steps  of  the  quay.  Bands 
of  gay  music  greeted  her  arrival,  and  accompanied  every 
step  she  took.  While  she  was  passing  through  the  centre 
of  the  town,  and  treading  beneath  her  dainty  feet  the 
richest  carpets  and  the  gajrest  flowers  which  had  been 
strewn  upon  the  ground,  De  Guiche  and  Raoul,  escaping 
from  their  English  friends,  hastened  rapidly  through  the 
town  and  towards  the  place  intended  for  the  residence  of 
the  princess. 

“ Let  us  hurry  forward,”  said  Raoul  to  De  Guiche;  ‘‘for 
if  I read  Buckingham’s  character  aright,  he  will  create 
some  disturbance  when  he  learns  the  result  of  our 
deliberations  of  yesterday.” 

“ Never  fear  ! ” said  the  count.  “ De  Wardes  is  there, 
wTho  is  determination  itself ; while  Manicamp  is  the  very 
personification  of  gentleness.” 

De  Guiche  was  not,  however,  the  less  diligent  on  that 
account,  and  five  minutes  afterward  they  were  in  sight  of 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  first  thing  wThich  struck  them 
was  the  number  of  persons  assembled  in  front  of  the 
square.  “ Good  ! ” said  De  Guiche  ; “ our  apartments,  I 
see,  are  prepared.” 

In  fact,  in  front  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  upon  the  wide 
open  space  before  it,  eight  of  the  most  gorgeous  tents  had 
been  raised,  surmounted  by  the  flags  of  France  and  Eng- 
land united.  The  hotel  was  surrounded  by  tents,  as  by 
a girdle  of  variegated  colors ; ten  pages  and  a dozen 
mounted  troopers,  who  had  been  given  to  the  ambassa- 
dors for  an  escort,  mounted  guard  before  the  tents.  It 
had  a singularly  curious  effect,  almost  fairy-like  in  its 
appearance.  These  improvised  tents  had  been  constructed 
during  the  night-time.  Fitted  up,  within  and  without, 
with  the  richest  materials  that  De  Guiche  had  been  able 
to  procure  in  Havre,  they  completely  encircled  the  Hotel 


THE  TENTS. 


347 


de  Yille,  — that  is  to  say,  the  abode  of  the  princess.  They 
were  joined  one  to  another  by  silken  ropes,  guarded  by 
sentinels;  so  that  Buckingham’s  plans  were  completely 
subverted,  if  those  plans  had  really  been  to  reserve  for 
himself  and  his  Englishmen  the  approaches  to  the  Hotel 
de  Yille.  The  only  passage  which  gave  access  to  the 
steps  of  the  hotel,  and  which  was  not  closed  by  this 
silken  barricade,  was  guarded  by  two  tents,  resembling 
two  pavilions,  the  doorways  of  both  of  which  opened  on 
this  entrance.  These  two  tents  were  destined  for  De 
Guiche  and  Raoul;  in  whose  absence  they  were  always 
to  be  occupied,  that  of  De  Guiche  by  De  Wardes,  and 
that  of  Raoul  by  Manicamp.  Around  these  two  tents, 
and  the  six  others,  a hundred  officers,  gentlemen,  and 
pages,  dazzling  in  their  display  of  silk  and  gold,  thronged 
like  bees  around  a hive.  Every  one  of  them,  their  swords 
by  their  sides,  was  ready  to  obey  the  slightest  sign  either 
of  De  Guiche  or  Bragelonne,  the  leaders  of  the  embassy. 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  two  young  men  ap- 
peared at  the  end  of  one  of  the  streets  leading  to  the 
square,  they  perceived  crossing  the  square,  at  full  gal- 
lop, a young  man  on  horseback,  whose  costume  was  of 
surprising  richness.  He  pushed  hastily  through  the 
crowd  of  curious  lookers-on,  and  at  the  sight  of  these 
unexpected  erections  uttered  a cry  of  anger  and  dismay. 
It  was  Buckingham,  who  had  awakened  from  his  stupor, 
in  order  to  adorn  himself  with  a resplendent  costume, 
and  to  await  the  arrival  of  the  princess  and  the  queen- 
mother  at  the  Hotel  de  Yille.  At  the  entrance  to  the 
tents  the  soldier  barred  his  passage,  and  his  further 
progress  was  arrested.  Buckingham,  completely  infu- 
riated, raised  his  whip ; but  his  arm  was  seized  by  two 
of  the  officers.  Of  the  two  guardians  of  the  tent,  only 
one  was  there.  De  Wardes  was  inside  the  Hotel  de  Yille. 


348 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


engaged  in  attending  to  the  execution  of  some  orders 
given  by  De  Guiche.  At  the  noise  made  by  Bucking- 
ham, Manicamp,  who  was  indolently  reclining  upon  the 
cushions  at  the  doorway  of  one  of  the  two  tents,  rose  with 
his  usual  indifference,  and  perceiving  that  the  disturbance 
continued,  made  his  appearance  from  underneath  the  cur- 
tains. “ What  is  the  matter,”  he  said,  in  a gentle  tone 
of  voice,  “ and  who  is  it  making  this  disturbance  1 ” 

It  so  happened  that  at  the  moment  he  began  to  speak 
silence  had  just  been  restored,  and  although  his  voice 
was  very  soft  and  gentle  in  its  tone,  every  one  heard 
his  question.  Buckingham  turned  round,  and  looked 
at  the  tall,  thin  figure  and  the  listless  countenance 
of  his  questioner.  Probably  the  personal  appearance  of 
Manicamp,  who  was  moreover  dressed  very  plainly  as  we 
have  said,  did  not  inspire  him  with  much  respect,  for  he 
replied  disdainfully,  “Who  may  you  be,  Monsieur  ? ” 
Manicamp,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a gigantic  trooper,  as 
firm  as  the  pillar  of  a cathedral,  replied  in  the  same  tran- 
quil tone,  “And  you,  Monsieur 

“ I am  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  I have 
hired  all  the  houses  which  surround  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
where  my  business  is ; and  as  these  houses  are  let,  they 
belong  to  me ; and  as  I hired  them  in  order  to  preserve 
the  right  of  free  access  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  you  have  no 
right  to  prevent  my  passage.” 

“But  who  prevents  you  from  passing,  Monsieur?” 
inquired  Manicamp. 

“Your  sentinels.” 

“Because  you  wish  to  pass  on  horseback,  Monsieur, 
and  orders-  have  been  given  to  let  only  persons  pass  on 
foot.” 

“ No  one  has  any  right  to  give  orders  here,  except  my- 
self,” said  Buckingham. 


THE  TENTS, 


349 


“How  so,  Monsieur  V1  inquired  Manicamp,  with  his 
soft  voice ; “ will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  explain  this 
enigma  to  me  ^ ” 

“ Because,  as  I have  told  you,  I have  hired  all  the 
houses  looking  on  the  square.” 

“ We  are  very  well  aware  of  that,  since  nothing  but  the 
square  itself  has  been  left  for  118.” 

“You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur;  the  square  belongs  to 
me,  as  well  as  the  houses  in  it.” 

“ Pardon  me,  Monsieur,  but  you  are  mistaken  there. 
In  our  country,  we  say,  The  highway  belongs  to  the  king ; 
therefore  this  square  is  his  Majesty’s  ; and  consequently, 
as  we  are  the  king’s  ambassadors,  the  square  belongs  to 
us.” 

“ I have  already  asked  you  who  you  are,  Monsieur,” 
exclaimed  Buckingham,  exasperated  at  the  coolness  of  his 
interlocutor. 

“ My  name  is  Manicamp,”  replied  the  young  man,  in  a 
voice  whose  tones  were  as  harmonious  and  sweet  as  the 
notes  of  an  iEolian  harp. 

Buckingham  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptuously, 
and  said,  “ When  I hired  these  houses  which  surround 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  square  was  unoccupied.  These 
barracks  obstruct  my  sight ; let  them  be  removed  ! ” 

A hoarse  and  angry  murmur  passed  through  the  crowd 
of  listeners  at  these  words.  De  Guiche  arrived  at  this 
moment ; he  pushed  through  the  crowd  which  separated 
him  from  Buckingham,  and  followed  by  Baoul  arrived 
on  the  scene  of  action  from  one  side,  just  as  De  Wardes 
arrived  from  the  other.  “ Pardon  me,  my  Lord,”  said  he  ; 
“but  if  you  have  any  complaint  to  make,  have  the  good- 
ness to  address  it  to  me,  inasmuch  as  it  was  I who  sup- 
plied the  plans  for  the  construction  of  these  tents.” 
“Moreover,  I would  beg  you  to  observe,  Monsieur, 


350 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


that  the  term  * barrack  ’ is  objected  to,”  added  Manicamp, 
graciously. 

“ You  were  saying,  Monsieur  — ” continued  De  Guiche, 

“ I was  saying,  Monsieur  the  Count,”  resumed  Buck- 
ingham,  in  a tone  of  anger  still  perceptible,  although  in 
some  measure  moderated  by  the  presence  of  an  equal,  “ I 
was  saying  that  it  is  impossible  for  these  tents  to  remain 
where  they  are.” 

“ Impossible  ! ” exclaimed  De  Guiche,  “ and  for  what 
reason  ? ” 

“Because  they  annoy  me.” 

A movement  of  impatience  escaped  De  Guiche,  but  a 
warning  glance  from  Baoul  restrained  him. 

“You  should  the  less  object  to  them,  Monsieur,  on  ac- 
count of  the  abuse  of  priority  you  have  permitted  yourself 
to  exercise.” 

“ Abuse  ! ” 

“ Most  assuredly.  You  commission  a messenger,  who 
hires  in  your  name  the  whole  of  the  town  of  Havre,  with- 
out considering  the  members  of  the  French  Court  who 
would  be  sure  to  arrive  here  to  meet  Madame.  Your 
Grace  will  admit  that  this  is  hardly  friendly  conduct  in 
the  representative  of  a friendly  nation.” 

“ The  right  of  possession  belongs  to  him  who  is  first  on 
the  spot.” 

“Not  in  France,  Monsieur.” 

“ Why  not  in  France?  ” 

“Because  France  is  a country  where  politeness  is 
observed.” 

“ Which  means  — ” exclaimed  Buckingham,  in  so  vio- 
lent a manner  that  those  who  were  present  drew  back, 
expecting  an  immediate  collision. 

“ Which  means,  Monsieur,”  answered  De  Guiche,  turn- 
ing pale,  “ that  I have  caused  these  tents  to  be  raised  as 


THE  TENTS. 


351 


habitations  for  myself  and  my  friends,  as  a shelter  for  the 
ambasssadors  of  France,  as  the  only  place  of  refuge  which 
your  unreasonableness  has  left  us  in  the  town ; and  that 
I and  those  who  are  with  me  shall  remain  in  them,  at 
least  until  a force  more  powerful  and  more  authoritative 
than  your  own  shall  dismiss  me  from  them.” 

“ In  other  words,  until  we  are  overruled,  as  the  lawyers 
say,”  observed  Manicamp,  blandly. 

“ I know  an  authority,  Monsieur,  which  I trust  will  be 
such  as  you  wish  for,”  said  Buckingham,  placing  his  hand 
on  the  hilt  of  his  sword. 

At  this  moment,  and  as  the  goddess  of  Discord,  inflam- 
ing the  minds  of  all,  was  about  to  direct  their  swords 
against  one  another,  Baoul  gently  placed  his  hand  on 
Buckingham’s  shoulder.  “ One  word,  my  Lord  ! ” he  said. 

“ My  right,  my  right,  first  of  all ! ” exclaimed  the  fiery 
young  man. 

“ It  is  precisely  upon  that  point  I wish  to  have  the 
honor  of  addressing  a word  to  you,”  said  Raoul. 

“ Very  well,  Monsieur,  but  let  your  remarks  be  brief.” 

“ One  question  is  all  I would  ask ; you  can  hardly 
expect  me  to  be  briefer.” 

‘‘Speak  ! I am  listening.” 

“Are  you,  or  is  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  going  to  marry 
the  granddaughter  of  Henry  IV.  ? ” 

“What  do  you  mean?”  exclaimed  Buckingham,  re- 
treating a few  steps,  quite  bewildered. 

“ Have  the  goodness  to  answer  me,”  persisted  Raoul, 
calmly.  « 

“ Do  you  mean  to  ridicule  me,  Monsieur  ? ” demanded 
Buckingham. 

“ Your  question  is  a sufficient  answer  for  me.  You 
admit,  then,  that  it  is  not  you  who  are  going  to  marry  the 
princess.” 


352 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“You  know  it  perfectly  well,  Monsieur,  I should 
imagine.” 

“ I beg  your  pardon,  but  your  conduct  has  been  such 
as  to  leave  it  not  altogether  certain.” 

“ Proceed,  Monsieur  ; what  do  you  mean  to  intimate  ? ” 
Raoul  approached  the  duke.  “ Are  you  aware,  my 
Lord,”  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  “ that  your  extrava- 
gances very  much  resemble  the  excesses  of  jealousy  ? 
These  jealous  fits  with  respect  to  any  woman  are  not 
becoming  in  one  who  is  neither  her  lover  nor  her  hus- 
band ; and  I am  sure  you  will  admit  that  my  remark 
applies  with  still  greater  force  when  the  lady  in  question 
is  a princess  of  royal  blood.” 

“Monsieur,”  exclaimed  Buckingham,  “do  you  mean 
to  insult  Madame  Henrietta'?” 

“ Be  careful,  my  Lord,”  replied  Bragelonne,  coldly,  “ for 
it  is  you  who  insult  her.  A little  while  since,  when  on 
board  the  admiral’s  ship,  you  annoyed  the  queen,  and 
exhausted  the  admiral’s  patience.  I was  observing  you, 
my  Lord  ; and  at  first  I concluded  you  were  not  in  pos- 
session of  your  senses,  but  I have  since  surmised  the  real 
character  of  your  madness.” 

“ Monsieur  ! ” exclaimed  Buckingham. 

“ One  moment  more,  for  I have  yet  another  word  to 
add.  I trust  I am  the  only  one  of  my  companions  who 
has  guessed  it.” 

“ Are  you  aware,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  trem- 
bling with  mingled  feelings  of  anger  and  uneasiness,  — 
“ are  you  aware  that  you  are  using  language  towards  me 
which  requires  to  be  checked  % ” 

“ Weigh  your  words  well,  my  Lord  ! ” said  Raoul,  haugh- 
tily. “My  nature  is  not  such  that  its  outbursts  need 
checking;  while  you,  on  the  contrary,  are  descended 
from  a race  whose  passions  are  suspected  by  all  true 


THE  TENTS. 


353 


Frenchmen.  T repeat,  therefore,  for  the  second  time,  be 
careful  1 ” 

“ Careful  of  what,  may  I ask  1 Do  you  presume  to 
threaten  me?” 

“ I am  the  son  of  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  my  Lord 
Buckingham,  and  I never  threaten,  because  I strike  first. 
Therefore,  understand  me  well,  the  threat  that  I hold  out 
to  you  is  this  — ” 

Buckingham  clenched  his  hands ; but  Baoul  continued, 
as  though  he  had  not  observed  the  movement : “ At  the 
very  first  word  beyond  the  respect  and  deference  due  to 
her  royal  Highness,  which  you  permit  yourself  to  use 
towards  her — Oh,  be  patient,  M.  de  Buckingham!  I 
am.” 

“You?” 

“ Certainly.  So  long  as  her  royal  Highness  remained 
under  the  care  of  her  English  escort,  I held  my  peace ; 
but  from  the  very  moment  she  stepped  on  French  ground, 
and  now  that  we  have  received  her  in  the  name  of  the 
prince,  I warn  you  that  at  the  first  mark  of  disrespect 
which  you  in  your  insane  attachment  may  exhibit 
towards  the  royal  house  of  France,  I shall  have  one  of 
two  courses  to  follow  : either  to  declare  in  the  presence 
of  every  one  the  madness  with  which  you  are  now  af- 
fected, and  get  you  ignominiously  dismissed  to  England ; 
or,  if  you  prefer  it,  to  run  my  dagger  through  your  throat 
before  the  whole  court.  This  second  alternative  seems 
to  me  the  more  convenient,  and  I think  I shall  hold  to  it.” 

Buckingham  had  become  paler  than  the  profusion  of 
English  lace  around  his  neck.  “ M.  de  Bragelonne,”  he 
said,  “ is  it,  indeed,  a gentleman  who  is  speaking  to  me  % ” 

“ Yes ; only  the  gentleman  is  speaking  to  a madman. 
Get  cured,  my  Lord,  and  he  will  hold  quite  another 
language  to  you.” 
vol.  it.  — 23 


354 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ But,  M.  de  Bragelonne,”  murmured  the  duke,  in  a 
voice  half  choked,  and  putting  his  hand  to  his  neck, 
“ do  you  not  see  I am  dying 

“If  your  death  were  to  take  place  at  this  moment, 
my  Lord,”  replied  Raoul,  with  unruffled  composure,  “I 
should  indeed  regard  it  as  a great  happiness,  for  this 
circumstance  would  prevent  all  kinds  of  evil  remarks, 
not  alone  about  yourself,  but  also  about  those  illustri- 
ous persons  whom  your  devotion  is  compromising  in  so 
absurd  a manner.” 

“You  are  right,  you  are  right,”  said  the  young  man, 
beside  himself.  “ Yes,  yes  ; better  to  die  than  to  suffer  as 
I do  at  this  moment  ! ” and  he  grasped  a beautiful  dag- 
ger, the  handle  of  which  was  inlaid  with  precious  stones, 
and  which  he  half  drew  from  his  breast. 

Raoul  thrust  the  duke’s  hand  aside.  “Be  careful  what 
you  do  ! ” he  said.  “ If  you  do  not  kill  yourself,  you 
commit  a ridiculous  action  ; and  if  you  do  kill  yourself, 
you  sprinkle  blood  upon  the  nuptial  robe  of  the  princess 
of  England.” 

Buckingham  for  a minute  gasped  for  breath  ; during 
this  interval  his  lips  quivered,  his  features  worked  con- 
vulsively, and  his  eyes  wandered,  as  though  in  delirium. 
Then  suddenly,  “ M.  de  Bragelonne,”  he  said,  “I  know 
nowhere  a nobler  mind  than  yours ; you  are  the  worthy 
son  of  the  most  perfect  gentleman  that  ever  lived.  Keep 
your  tents  ! ” and  he  threw  his  arms  round  Raoul’s  neck. 

All  who  were  present,  astounded  at  this  conduct,  — 
which  was  such  as  they  could  hardly  have  expected,  con- 
sidering the  violence  of  the  one  adversary  and  the  de- 
termination of  the  other,  — began  immediately  to  clap 
their  hands,  and  a thousand  cheers  and  joyful  shouts  arose 
from  all  sides.  De  Quiche,  in  his  turn,  embraced  Buck- 
ingham, somewhat  against  his  inclination ; but,  at  all 


THE  TENTS. 


355 


events,  he  did  embrace  him.  This  was  the  signal  for 
French  and  English  to  do  the  same ; and  they  who  until 
that  moment  had  looked  at  each  other  with  restless  un- 
certainty, fraternized  on  the  spot.  In  the  mean  time 
arrived  the  retinue  of  the  princess,  who  but  for  Brage- 
lonne  would  have  found  two  armies  in  conflict  and  blood 
upon  the  flowers.  All  was  quiet  when  the  head  of  the 
procession  appeared. 


356 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

NIGHT. 

Concord  had  returned  to  resume  its  place  amid  the 
tents.  English  and  French  rivalled  one  another  in  their 
devotion  and  courteous  attention  to  the  illustrious  trav- 
ellers, and  in  politeness  to  one  another.  The  English 
sent  to  the  French  baskets  of  flowers,  of  which  they  had 
made  a plentiful  provision  to  celebrate  the  arrival  of  the 
young  princess;  the  French,  in  return,  invited  the  Eng- 
lish to  a supper  which  was  to  be  given  the  next  day. 
Congratulations  were  poured  in  upon  the  princess  every- 
where during  her  journey.  From  the  respect  paid  her  on 
all  sides,  she  seemed  like  a queen  ; and  from  the  adora- 
tion of  a few,  she  seemed  like  a goddess.  The  queen- 
mother  gave  the  French  the  most  affectionate  reception. 
France  was  her  native  country,  and  she  had  suffered  too 
much  unhappiness  in  England  to  have  made  her  forget 
France.  She  taught  her  daughter,  then,  by  her  own 
affection  for  it,  to  love  a country  where  they  had  both 
been  hospitably  received,  and  where  a brilliant  future  was 
opening  before  them. 

After  the  public  entry  was  over,  and  the  spectators 
in  the  streets  had  somewhat  dispersed,  and  the  sound 
of  the  music  and  the  cheering  of  the  crowd  could  be 
heard  no  more;  when  the  night  had  closed  in,  wrap- 
ping with  its  star-covered  mantle  the  sea,  the  harbor, 
the  town,  and  the  surrounding  country,  still  excited  by 
the  great  event  of  the  day,  De  Guiche  returned  to  his 


NIGHT. 


357 


tent,  and  seated  himself  upon  one  of  the  stools  with  so 
profound  an  expression  of  distress  that  Bragelonne  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  on  him  until  he  heard  him  sigh,  and  then 
he  approached  him.  The  count  had  thrown  himself  back 
on  his  seat,  leaning  his  shoulders  against  the  wall  of  the 
tent,  and  remained  thus,  with  his  face  buried  in  his  hands 
and  with  heaving  chest  and  restless  limbs. 

“You  are  suffering'?”  asked  Raoul. 

“Cruelly.” 

“ Bodily,  I suppose  ? ” 

“Yes;  bodily.” 

“This  has  indeed  been  a harassing  day,”  continued  the 
young  man,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  friend. 

“ Yes ; a night’s  rest  will  restore  me.” 

“ Shall  I leave  you  ? ” 

“ No  ; I wish  to  talk  to  you.” 

“ You  shall  not  speak  to  me,  De  Guiche,  until  you 
have  first  answered  my  questions.” 

“ Proceed  then.” 

“ You  will  be  frank  with  me  ? ” 

“As  I always  am.” 

“ Can  you  imagine  why  Buckingham  has  been  so 
violent  % ” 

“ I suspect  why.” 

“ Because  he  is  in  love  with  the  princess,  is  it  not  ? ” 

“ One  could  almost  swear  it,  to  see  him.” 

“ You  are  mistaken  ; it  is  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

“It  is  you  who  are  mistaken,  Raoul.  I have  read  his 
distress  in  his  eyes,  in  his  every  gesture  and  action,  the 
whole  day.” 

“You  are  a poet,  my  dear  count,  and  find  subjects  for 
your  muse  everywhere.” 

“ I can  perceive  love  clearly  enough.” 

“Where  it  does  not  exist.” 


358 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Nay,  where  it  does  exist.” 

“ Do  you  not  think  you  are  deceiving  yourself,  De 
Guiche 

“ I am  convinced  of  what  I say,”  said  the  count. 

“ Now  inform  me,  Count,”  asked  Raoul,  fixing  a pene- 
trating look  upon  him,  “ what  has  happened  to  render 
you  so  clear-sighted  1 ” 

Guiche  hesitated  for  a moment,  and  then  answered, 
‘c  Self-love,  I suppose.” 

“ Self-love  is  a very  long  word,  De  Guiche.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“I  mean  that  generally  you  are  less  out  of  spirits 
than  seems  to  be  the  case  this  evening.” 

“ I am  fatigued.” 

“ Listen  to  me,  dear  friend  ! We  have  been  campaigners 
together ; we  have  been  on  horseback  for  eighteen  hours 
at  a time,  and  our  horses  even,  dying  from  sheer  exhaus- 
tion or  hunger,  have  fallen  beneath  us,  and  yet  wre  have 
laughed  at  our  mishaps.  Believe  me,  it  is  not  fatigue 
which  saddens  you  to-night.” 

“ It  is  annoyance,  then.” 

“ What  annoyance  1 ” 

“ That  of  this  evening.” 

“The  mad  conduct  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  do 
you  mean  ? ” 

“ Of  course.  Is  it  not  vexatious  for  us,  the  represen- 
tatives of  our  sovereign  master,  to  see  an  Englishman 
wooing  our  future  mistress,  the  second  lady  in  the 
kingdom  ? ” 

“ Yes,  you  ’re  right ; but  I do  not  think  any  danger  is 
to  be  apprehended  from  Buckingham.” 

“ No , still,  he  is  intrusive.  Did  he  not,  on  his  arrival 
here,  almost  succeed  in  creating  a disturbance  between 
the  English  and  ourselves?  And  had  it  not  been  fov  you, 


NIGHT. 


359 


for  your  admirable  prudence,  for  your  singular  firmness, 
swords  would  have  been  drawn  in  the  very  streets  of  the 
town.” 

“ You  observe,  however,  that  he  has  changed.” 

“Yes,  certainly;  but  it  is  that  which  amazes  me  so 
much.  You  spoke  to  him  in  a low  tone  of  voice.  What 
did  you  say  to  him]  You  think  he  loves  her;  you  admit 
that  such  a passion  does  not  give  way  readily.  He  does 
not  love  her,  then ! ” De  Guiche  pronounced  the  last 
words  with  so  marked  an  expression  that  Raoul  raised 
his  head.  The  noble  countenance  of  the  young  man  ex- 
pressed a displeasure  easy  to  read. 

“ What  I said  to  him,  Count,”  replied  Raoul,  “I  will 
repeat  to  you.  Listen  to  me ! I said,  ‘ Monsieur,  you  are 
regarding  with  wistful  feelings  and  with  most  injurious 
desire  the  sister  of  your  prince,  — her  to  whom  you  are 
not  affianced,  who  is  not,  who  can  never  be,  anything  to 
you  ; you  are  outraging  those  who,  like  ourselves,  have 
come  to  seek  a young  girl  to  lead  her  to  her  husband.’  ” 
“ You  spoke  to  him  in  that  manner  ] ” asked  De  Guiche, 
coloring. 

“ In  those  very  terms.  I even  added  more  : ‘ How 
would  you  regard  us/  I said,  ‘ if  you  were  to  perceive 
among  us  a man  mad  enough,  disloyal  enough,  to  enter- 
tain sentiments  other  than  those  of  the  purest  respect 
for  a princess  who  is  the  destined  wife  of  our  master]’  ” 
These  words  were  so  applicable  to  De  Guiche  that  he 
turned  pale,  and,  overcome  by  a sudden  agitation,  was 
barely  able  to  stretch  out  one  hand  mechanically  towards 
Raoul,  while  with  the  other  he  covered  his  eyes  and  face. 

“ But,”  continued  Raoul,  not  interrupted  by  this  dem- 
onstration of  his  friend,  “ Heaven  be  praised,  the  French, 
who  are  pronounced  to  be  thoughtless  and  indiscreet, 
reckless  even,  are  capable  of  bringing  a calm  and  sound 


S60 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


judgment,  to  bear  on  matters  of  such  high  importance. 
I added  even  more  : ‘ Learn,  my  Lord  Buckingham,  that 
we  gentlemen  of  France  serve  our  kings  by  sacrificing 
for  them  our  passions  as  well  as  our  fortunes  and  our 
lives;  and  whenever  it  may  chance  to  happen  that  the 
tempter  suggests  one  of  those  vile  thoughts  which  set  the 
heart  on  fire,  we  extinguish  that  flame,  even  though  it 
be  quenched  with  our  blood.  Thus  we  save  the  honor 
of  three  at  once, — our  country’s,  our  master’s,  and  our  own. 
It  is  thus  that  we  act,  your  Grace ; it  is  thus  that  every 
man  of  honor  ought  to  act.’  And  that  is  the  way,  my 
dear  Guiche,”  continued  Raoul,  “ in  which  I addressed 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham  ; and  he  submitted  unresistingly 
to  my  arguments.” 

De  Guiche,  who  had  hitherto  sat  leaning  forward  while 
Raoul  was  speaking,  drew  himself  up,  his  eyes  glancing 
proudly.  He  seized  Raoul’s  hand  with  his  own  feverish 
one  ; his  cheeks,  which  had  been  as  cold  as  ice,  seemed  on 
fire.  “ And  you  spoke  right  well,”  he  said,  in  a voice  half 
choked  ; “ you  are  indeed  a brave  friend,  Raoul.  I thank 
you.  And  now,  I entreat  you,  leave  me  to  myself.” 

“ Do  you  wish  it  V9 

“ Yes ; I need  repose.  Many  things  have  unsettled 
me  to-day  both  in  mind  and  body  ; when  you  return  to- 
morrow I shall  no  longer  be  the  same  man.” 

“ I leave  you,  then,”  said  Raoul,  and  withdrew. 

The  count  advanced  a step  towards  his  friend,  and 
clasped  him  warmly  in  his  arms  ; but  in  this  friendly 
pressure  Raoul  could  detect  the  nervous  agitation  of  a 
great  internal  conflict. 

The  night  was  clear,  starlit,  and  splendid ; after  the 
tempest  the  warmth  of  the  sun  had  restored  life,  peace, 
and  security  everywhere.  A few  light  fleecy  clouds  were 
floating  in  the  heavens,  and  promised  by  their  appearance 


NIGHT. 


361 


many  days  of  beautiful  weather,  tempered  by  a gentle 
breeze  from  the  east.  Upon  the  large  square  in  front 
of  the  hotel,  the  large  shadows  of  the  tents,  intersected 
by  the  brilliant  moonbeams,  formed  as  it  were  a huge 
mosaic  on  the  black  and  white  flagstones.  Soon  the 
whole  town  was  wrapped  in  slumber.  A feeble  light  still 
glimmered  in  the  princess’s  apartment,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  square ; and  the  soft  rays  from  the  expiring 
lamp  seemed  to  resemble  the  calm  sleep  of  a young  girl, 
hardly  yet  sensible  of  existence,  and  in  whom  the  flame 
of  life  sinks  down  as  sleep  steals  over  the  body. 

Bragelonne  left  the  tent  with  the  slow  and  measured 
step  of  a man  curious  to  observe,  but  anxious  not  to  be 
seen.  Then,  sheltered  behind  the  thick  curtains  of  his 
own  tent,  and  embracing  with  a glance  the  whole  square, 
he  noticed  that  after  a few  moments  the  curtains  of  De 
Guiche’s  tent  were  agitated,  and  then  drawn  partially  aside. 
Behind  them  he  could  perceive  the  shadow  of  De  Guiche  3 
his  eyes,  glistening  in  the  obscurity,  were  fastened  ar- 
dently upon  the  princess’s  drawing-room,  which  was  par- 
tially lighted  by  the  lamp  in  the  inner  room.  That  soft 
light  wTiich  illumined  the  windows  was  the  count’s  star. 
The  fervent  aspirations  of  his  whole  soul  could  be  read  in 
his  eyes.  Baoul,  concealed  in  the  shadow,  divined  the 
many  passionate  thoughts  which  established  between 
the  tent  of  the  young  ambassador  and  the  balcony  of  the 
princess  a mysterious  and  magical  bond  of  sympathy,  — 
a bond  created  by  thoughts  intensified  by  so  much 
strength  and  persistence  of  will,  that  they  must  have 
caused  dreams  of  love  to  descend  upon  the  perfumed 
couch  which  the  count  with  the  eyes  of  his  soul  devoured 
so  eagerly. 

But  De  Guiche  and  Baoul  wTere  not  the  only  watchers. 
The  window  of  one  of  the  houses  looking  on  the  square 


362 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


was  open  too,  — the  window  of  the  house  where  Buck- 
ingham resided.  By  the  aid  of  the  rays  of  light  which 
issued  from  this  latter  window,  the  profile  of  the  duke 
could  be  distinctly  seen,  as  he  indolently  reclined  upon 
the  carved  balcony  with  its  velvet  hangings;  he  also  was 
breathing  in  the  direction  of  the  princess’s  balcony  his 
devotion  and  the  wild  longing  of  his  love. 

Bragelonne  could  not  resist  smiling  as,  thinking  of  the 
princess,  he  said  to  himself,  “ Hers  is  indeed  a heart  well 
besieged  ; ” and  then  added  compassionately,  his  thoughts 
reverting  to  Monsieur,  “ and  he  is  a husband  well  threat- 
ened too.  It  is  a good  thing  for  him  that  he  is  a prince 
of  such  high  rank,  and  that  he  has  an  army  to  guard  that 
which  is  his  own.”  Bragelonne  watched  for  some  time 
the  conduct  of  the  two  lovers ; listened  to  the  sonorous 
breathing  of  Manicamp,  who  snored  as  imperiously  as 
though  he  had  his  blue  and  gold  instead  of  his  violet 
suit,  and  then  turned  towards  the  night  breeze  which 
bore  to  him  the  distant  song  of  a nightingale ; then,  after 
having  laid  in  a due  provision  of  melancholy,  another 
nocturnal  malady,  he  retired  to  rest,  thinking,  with  regard 
to  his  own  love  affair,  that  perhaps  four  or  six  eyes  quite 
as  ardent  as  those  of  De  Guiche  and  Buckingham  were 
coveting  his  own  idol  in  the  chateau  at  Blois.  “ And 
Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  is  by  no  means  a very  safe 
guardian,”  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  sighed  aloud. 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


363 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 

The  next  day  the  fetes  took  place,  with  all  the  pomp  and 
animation  which  the  resources  of  the  town  and  the  natu- 
ral disposition  of  men’s  minds  could  supply.  During  the 
last  few  hours  spent  in  Havre  every  preparation  for  the 
departure  had  been  made.  After  the  princess  had  taken 
leave  of  the  English  fleet  and  for  the  last  time  had  saluted 
the  country  in  saluting  its  flag,  she  entered  her  carriage 
surrounded  by  a brilliant  escort.  De  Guiche  had  hoped 
that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  would  return  with  the 
admiral  to  England  ; but  Buckingham  succeeded  in  de- 
monstrating to  the  queen  that  there  would  be  great  im- 
propriety in  allowing  the  princess  to  proceed  to  Paris 
almost  entirely  alone.  As  soon  as  it  had  been  settled 
that  Buckingham  was  to  accompany  the  princess,  the 
young  duke  selected  a court  of  gentlemen  and  officers  to 
form  his  own  suite ; so  that  it  was  almost  an  army  which 
proceeded  towards  Paris,  scattering  gold,  and  exciting 
the  liveliest  demonstrations  as  they  passed  through  the 
different  towns  and  villages  on  the  route. 

The  weather  was  very  fine.  France  is  a beautiful 
country,  especially  along  the  route  by  which  the  proces- 
sion passed.  Spring  cast  its  flowers  and  its  balmy  foliage 
upon  their  path.  Normandy,  with  its  vast  variety  of 
vegetation,  its  blue  skies  and  silver  rivers,  displayed  itself 
in  all  the  loveliness  of  a Paradise  for  the  new  sister  of  the 


364 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


king.  Fetes  and  manifestations  of  delight  greeted  them 
everywhere  along  the  line  of  march.  De  Guiche  and 
Buckingham  forgot  everything,  — De  Guiche  in  his  anx- 
iety to  prevent  any  fresh  attempts  on  the  part  of  the 
Englishman,  and  Buckingham  in  his  desire  to  awaken  in 
the  heart  of  the  princess  a softer  remembrance  of  the 
country  to  which  the  recollection  of  many  happy  days 
were  attached.  But,  alas  ! the  poor  duke  could  perceive 
that  the  image  of  his  dear  England  became  from  day  to 
day  more  and  more  effaced  in  the  princess’s  mind,  in  pro- 
portion as  her  affection  for  France  became  more  deeply 
engraved  on  her  heart.  In  fact,  it  was  not  difficult  to 
perceive  that  his  most  devoted  attention  awakened  no 
acknowledgment,  and  that  the  grace  with  which  he  rode 
one  of  his  most  fiery  Yorkshire  horses  was  thrown  away ; 
for  it  was  only  casually  and  by  the  merest  accident  that 
the  princess’s  eyes  were  turned  towards  him.  In  vain 
did  he  try,  in  order  to  fix  upon  himself  one  of  those 
looks  roving  carelessly  around  or  bestowed  elsewhere,  to 
produce  from  the  animal  he  rode  its  greatest  display  of 
strength,  speed,  temper,  and  address ; in  vain  did  he,  by 
exciting  his  horse  almost  to  madness,  spur  him,  at  the 
risk  of  dashing  himself  in  pieces  against  the  trees  or  of 
rolling  in  the  ditches,  over  gates  and  barriers,  or  down 
the  steep  declivities  of  the  hills.  The  princess,  whose 
attention  had  been  aroused  by  the  noise,  turned  her 
head  for  a moment  to  observe  the  cause  of  it,  and  then, 
slightly  smiling,  again  turned  to  her  faithful  guardians, 
Raoul  and  De  Guiche,  who  were  quietly  riding  at  her 
carriage  doors. 

Then  Buckingham  felt  himself  a prey  to  all  the  tortures 
of  jealousy ; an  unknown,  unheard-of  burning  anguish 
glided  into  his  veins,  and  laid  siege  to  his  heart.  And 
then,  as  if  to  show  that  he  knew  the  folly  of  his  conduct, 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


365 


and  that  he  wished  to  redeem  by  the  humblest  submis- 
sion his  flights  of  absurdity,  he  mastered  his  horse,  and 
compelled  him,  reeking  with  sweat  and  flecked  with  foam, 
to  champ  his  bit  close  beside  the  carriage,  amid  the  crowd 
of  courtiers.  Occasionally  he  obtained  a word  from  the 
princess  as  a recompense,  and  yet  this  word  seemed  almost 
a reproach  to  him.  “ That  is  well,  my  Lord  Buckingham,” 
she  said  ; “ now  you  are  reasonable.”  Or  a word  from 
Kaoul  : “Your  Grace  is  killing  your  horse.” 

Buckingham  listened  patiently  to  Raoul ; for  he  in- 
stinctively felt,  without  having  had  any  proof  that  such 
was  the  case,  that  Raoul  checked  the  display  of  De 
Quiche’s  feelings,  and  that,  had  it  not  been  for  Raoul, 
some  mad  act  or  proceeding,  either  of  the  count  or  of 
Buckingham  himself,  would  have  brought  about  an  open 
rupture  or  a disturbance  and  perhaps  banishment.  From 
the  moment  of  that  notable  conversation  which  the  two 
young  men  had  had  in  front  of  the  tents  at  Havre,  when 
Raoul  had  made  the  duke  perceive  the  impropriety  of  his 
conduct,  Buckingham  had  felt  himself  attracted  towards 
Raoul  almost  in  spite  of  himself.  He  often  entered  into 
conversation  with  him ; and  it  was  nearly  always  to  talk 
to  him  either  of  his  father  or  of  D’Artagnan,  their  com- 
mon friend,  in  whose  praise  Buckingham  was  almost 
as  enthusiastic  as  Raoul.  Raoul  endeavored,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  make  the  conversation  turn  upon  this 
subject  in  De  Wardes’  presence,  who  had  during  the 
whole  journey  felt  hurt  at  the  superior  position  taken 
by  Bragelonne,  and  especially  by  his  influence  over 
De  Guiche. 

De  Wardes  had  that  keen  and  observant  penetration 
which  all  evil  natures  possess;  he  had  immediately  re- 
marked De  Guiche’s  melancholy,  and  the  nature  of  his 
regard  for  the  princess.  Instead,  however,  of  treating 


366 


THE  VICOMTE  1)E  BRAGELONNE. 


the  subject  with  the  same  reserve  which  Baoul  had 
practised,  instead  of  regarding  with  proper  respect  the 
obligations  and  duties  of  society,  De  Wardes  resolutely 
attacked  in  the  count  that  ever-sounding  chord  of  juve- 
nile audacity  and  egotistical  pride.  It  happened  one 
evening,  during  a halt  at  Mantes,  that  while  De  Guiche 
and  De  Wardes  wrere  leaning  against  a barrier,  engaged 
in  conversation,  Buckingham  and  Baoul  were  also  talking 
together  as  they  walked  up  and  down.  Manicamp  was 
engaged  in  devoted  attentions  to  the  princesses,  who 
already  treated  him  without  any  reserve,  on  account  of 
his  pliant  nature,  his  frank  courtesy  of  manner,  and  his 
conciliatory  disposition. 

“ Confess,”  said  De  Wardes  to  the  count,  “ that  you  are 
really  ill,  and  that  your  pedagogue  has  not  succeeded  in 
curing  you.” 

“ I do  not  understand  you,”  said  the  count. 

“ And  yet  it  is  easy  enough ; you  are  dying  of  love.” 

“You  are  mad,  De  Wardes.” 

“ Madness  it  would  be,  I admit,  if  the  princess  were 
really  indifferent  to  your  suffering;  but  she  takes  so 
much  notice  of  it  that  she  compromises  herself,  and  I 
tremble  lest,  on  our  arrival  at  Paris,  your  pedagogue, 
M.  de  Bragelonne,  may  denounce  both  of  you.” 

“ For  shame,  De  Wardes,  again  attacking  Bragelonne  ! ” 

“ Come,  come,  a truce  to  child’s  play  ! ” replied  the 
count’s  evil  genius,  in  an  undertone;  “you  know,  as  well 
as  I do,  what  I mean.  Besides,  you  must  have  observed 
how  the  princess’s  glance  softens  as  she  speaks  to  you  ; 
you  can  tell,  by  the  very  inflection  of  her  voice,  what 
pleasure  she  takes  in  listening  to  you,  and  can  feel  how 
thoroughly  she  appreciates  the  verses  you  recite  to  her. 
You  cannot  deny,  too,  that  every  morning  she  tells  you 
how  indifferently  she  slept  the  previous  night.” 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


367 


“True,  De  Wardes,  quite  true;  but  what  good  is  there 
in  your  telling  me  all  that  h ” 

“ Is  it  not  important  to  see  things  clearly  h” 

“ No,  no ; not  when  the  things  I see  are  enough  to 
drive  one  mad  ; ” and  he  turned  uneasily  in  the  direction 
of  the  princess,  as  if,  while  repelling  the  insinuations  of 
De  Wardes,  he  wished  to  find  confirmation  of  them  in  her 
eyes. 

“ Stay,  stay  ! ” said  De  Wardes  ; “ look  ! she  calls  you  ; 
do  you  understand  ? Profit  by  the  occasion ; the  peda- 
gogue is  not  here.” 

De  Guiche  could  not  resist;  an  invincible  attraction 
drew  him  towards  the  princess.  De  Wardes  smiled  as 
he  saw  him  withdraw. 

“You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur,”  said  Raoul,  suddenly 
leaping  over  the  barrier  against  which,  the  previous 
moment,  the  two  friends  had  been  leaning  ; “ the  peda- 
gogue is  here,  and  has  overheard  you.” 

De  Wardes,  at  the  sound  of  RaouPs  voice,  which  he 
recognized  without  having  occasion  to  look  at  him,  half 
drew  his  sword. 

“ Put  up  your  sword,”  said  Raoul ; “ you  know  perfectly 
well  that  until  our  journey  is  at  an  end  every  demon- 
stration of  that  nature  is  useless.  Sheath  your  sword, 
but  likewise  sheath  your  tongue.  Why  do  you  distil  into 
the  heart  of  the  man  you  term  your  friend  all  the  bitter- 
ness which  infects  your  own  ] Toward  myself  you  wish 
to  arouse  a feeling  of  hatred  in  a man  of  honor,  — my 
father’s  friend  and  my  own ; and  as  for  the  count,  you 
wish  him  to  love  one  who  is  destined  for  your  master. 
Really,  Monsieur,  I should  regard  you  as  a coward,  and 
a traitor  too,  if  I did  not  with  greater  justice  regard  you 
as  a madman.” 

“ Monsieur,”  exclaimed  De  Wardes,  exasperated,  “ I was 


368 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


not  mistaken,  I find,  in  terming  you  a pedagogue  ; the 
tone  you  assume,  and  the  style  which  is  peculiarly  your 
own,  is  that  of  a Jesuit  flogger,  and  not  of  a gentleman. 
Discontinue,  I beg,  whenever  I am  present,  this  style  I 
complain  of,  and  the  tone  also.  I hate  M.  d’Artagnan  be- 
cause he  was  guilty  of  a cowardly  act  towards  my  father.” 
“ You  lie,  Monsieur  ! ” said  Raoul,  coolly. 

“ You  give  me  the  lie,  Monsieur  ? ” exclaimed  De  Wardes. 
“ Why  not,  if  what  you  assert  be  untrue  1 ” 

“ You  give  me  the  lie,  and  do  not  draw  your  sword  ? ” 

“ I have  resolved,  Monsieur,  not  to  kill  you  until  we 
have  delivered  the  princess  to  her  husband.” 

“ Kill  me  ! Believe  me,  Monsieur,  your  schoolmaster’s 
rod  does  not  kill  so  easily.” 

“No,”  replied  Raoul,  sternly,  “but  M.  d’Artagnan’s 
sword  kills.  Not  only  do  I possess  his  sword,  but  he 
has  himself  taught  me  how  to  use  it;  and  with  that 
sword,  Monsieur,  when  a suitable  time  arrives,  I shall 
avenge  his  name  outraged  by  you.” 

“Take  care,  Monsieur!”  exclaimed  De  Wardes;  “if 
you  do  not  immediately  give  me  satisfaction,  I will  avail 
myself  of  every  means  to  revenge  myself.” 

“ Indeed,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  suddenly  ap- 
pearing upon  the  scene  of  action,  “ that  is  a threat  which 
borders  on  assassination,  and  would  therefore  ill  become 
a gentleman.” 

“ What  did  you  say,  my  Lord  ? ” said  De  Wardes, 
turning  towards  him. 

“ I said  that  the  words  you  have  just  spoken  are 
displeasing  to  my  English  ears.” 

“ Very  well,  Monsieur,  if  what  you  say  is  true,”  ex- 
claimed De  Wardes,  thoroughly  incensed,  “so  much  the 
better;  I shall  at  least  find  in  you  one  man  who  will  not 
escape  me.  Understand  my  words  as  you  like.” 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


3G9 


“ I understand  them  in  the  manner  they  cannot  but 
be  understood/’  answered  Buckingham,  with  that  haughty 
tone  which  characterized  him,  and  which  even  in  ordi- 
nary conversation  gave  a tone  of  defiance  to  everything 
he  said.  “ M.  de  Bragelonne  is  my  friend  ; you  insult 
M.  de  Bragelonne,  and  you  shall  give  me  satisfaction  for 
that  insult.” 

De  Wardes  cast  a look  upon  Bragelonne,  who,  faith- 
ful to  the  character  he  had  assumed,  remained  calm  and 
unmoved,  even  after  the  duke’s  challenge. 

“ It  would  seem  that  I did  not  insult  M.  de  Bragelonne, 
since  M.  de  Bragelonne,  who  carries  a sword  by  his  side, 
does  not  consider  himself  insulted.” 

“ At  all  events,  you  insult  some  one  h ” 

“Yes,  I insult  M.  d’Artagnan,”  resumed  De  Wardes, 
who  had  observed  that  this  name  was  the  only  sting  with 
which  he  could  arouse  the  anger  of  Raoul. 

“That,  then,”  said  Buckingham,  “is  another  matter.” 

“ Precisely  so,”  said  De  Wardes  ; “ it  is  the  province  of 
M.  dArtagnan’s  friends  to  defend  him.” 

“I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,  Monsieur,”  replied  the 
Englishman,  who  had  regained  all  his  indifference  of  man- 
ner. “If  M.  de  Bragelonne  were  offended,  I could  not 
reasonably  be  expected  to  espouse  his  quarrel,  since  he  is 
himself  here  ; but  since  M.  d’Artagnan  is  in  question  — ” 
“ You  will  of  course  leave  me  to  deal  with  the  matter,” 
said  De  Wardes. 

“Nay,  the  very  contrary,  I draw  my  sword,”  said 
Buckingham,  unsheathing  it  as  he  spoke  ; “ for  if  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  injured  your  father,  he  rendered,  or  at  least  did 
all  that  he  could  to  render,  a great  service  to  mine.” 

De  Wardes  seemed  thunderstruck. 

“ M.  d’Artagnan, ” continued  Buckingham,  “ is  the 
bravest  gentleman  I know.  I ' shall  be  delighted,  as  I 
vol.  ii.— 24 


370 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


owe  him  many  personal  obligations,  to  settle  them  with 
you,  by  crossing  my  sword  with  yours.”  At  the  same 
moment  Buckingham  drew  his  sword  gracefully,  saluted 
Raoul,  and  put  himself  on  his  guard. 

De  Wardes  advanced  a step  to  meet  him. 

“ Stay,  Messieurs!  ” said  Raoul,  advancing  towards  them, 
and  placing  his  own  drawn  sword  between  the  combatants ; 
“ all  this  is  hardly  worth  the  trouble  of  blood  being  shed 
almost  under  the  eyes  of  the  princess.  M.  de  Wardes 
speaks  ill  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  but  he  is  not  even  acquainted 
with  that  gentleman.” 

“ What,  Monsieur  ! ” said  De  Wardes,  setting  his  teeth 
hard  together,  and  resting  the  point  of  his  sword  on  the 
toe  of  his  boot,  “ do  you  assert  that  I do  not  know 
M.  d’Artagnan  1 ” 

“ Certainly  not ; you  do  not  know  him,”  replied  Raoul, 
coldly,  “ and  you  are  even  not  aware  where  he  is  to  be 
found.” 

“ Not  know  where  he  is  1 ” 

“ Doubtless,  such  must  be  the  case,  since  you  fix  your 
quarrel  with  him  upon  strangers,  instead  of  seeking  M. 
d’Artagnan  where  he  is  to  be  found.”  De  Wardes  turned 
pale.  “ Well,  Monsieur,”  continued  Raoul,  “ I will  tell  you 
where  M.  d’Artagnan  is.  He  is  now  in  Paris;  when  on 
duty,  he  resides  at  the  Louvre  ; when  not  so,  in  the  Rue 
des  Lombards.  M.  d’Artagnan  can  be  easily  found  at 
either  of  those  two  places.  Having,  therefore,  as  you  as- 
sert, so  many  causes  of  complaint  against  him,  you  do  not 
show  your  courage  in  not  seeking  him  out,  so  that  he  may 
give  you  that  satisfaction  you  seem  to  ask  of  every  one 
but  himself.”  De  Wardes  passed  his  hand  across  his 
forehead,  which  was  covered  with  perspiration.  “For 
shame,  M.  de  Wardes!”  continued  Raoul,  “soquarreb 
some  a disposition  is  hardly  becoming  after  the  publica- 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


371 


tion  of  the  edicts  against  duels.  Pray  think  of  that ! The 
king  will  be  incensed  at  our  disobedience,  particularly  at 
such  a time  ; and  his  Majesty  will  be  right.” 

“Excuses  !”  murmured  De  Wardes,  “pretexts  ! ” 

“ Come  now,”  replied  Eaoul,  “ that  remark  of  yours  is 
arrant  nonsense,  my  dear  M.  de  Wardes;  you  know  very 
well  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  is  a man  of  undoubted 
courage,  who  has  already  fought  ten  duels  and  is  ready 
to  fight  the  eleventh.  His  name  alone  is  significant 
enough.  So  far  as  I am  concerned,  you  are  well  aware 
that  I can  fight  also.  I fought  at  Lens,  at  Bleneau,  at 
the  Dunes  in  front  of  the  artillery,  a hundred  paces  in 
front  of  the  line,  while  you,  by  the  way,  were  a hundred 
paces  behind  it.  It  is  true  that  on  that  occasion  there 
was  by  far  too  great  a crowd  of  people  for  your  courage 
to  be  observed,  and  on  that  account,  perhaps,  you  sup- 
pressed it ; while  here  it  would  be  a display,  and  would 
excite  remark.  You  wish  that  others  should  talk  of 
you,  — in  what  manner  you  do  not  care.  Very  well,  do 
not  depend  upon  me,  M.  de  Wardes,  to  assist  you  in 
your  designs,  for  I shall  certainly  not  afford  you  that 
pleasure.” 

“ Sensibly  observed,”  said  Buckingham,  putting  up  his 
sword;  “and  I ask  your  forgiveness,  M.  de  Bragelonne, 
for  having  allowed  myself  to  yield  to  a first  impulse.” 

De  WTardes,  however,  on  the  contrary,  perfectly  furious, 
bounded  forward,  and  raised  his  sword  threateningly 
against  Raoul,  who  had  scarcely  time  to  put  himself  in  a 
posture  of  defence. 

“ Take  care,  Monsieur,”  said  Bragelonne,  tranquilly, 
“or  you  will  put  out  one  of  my  eyes.” 

“You  will  not  fight,  thenl”  cried  De  Wardes. 

“ Not  at  this  moment ; but  this  I promise  to  do,  im- 
mediately  on  our  arrival  at  Paris : I will  conduct  you  tc 


372  THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 

M.  d’Artagnan,  to  whom  you  shall  detail  all  the  causes 
of  complaint  you  have  against  him.  M.  d’Artagnan  will 
solicit  the  king’s  permission  to  measure  swords  with  you. 
The  king  will  yield  his  consent,  and  when  you  shall  have 
received  your  sword-thrust  in  due  course,  my  dear  M.  de 
Wardes,  you  will  consider,  in  a calmer  frame  of  mind, 
the  precepts  of  the  gospel  which  enjoin  forgetfulness  of 
injuries.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed  De  Wardes,  furious  at  this  imper- 
turbable coolness,  “one  can  clearly  see  that  you  are  half 
a bastard,  M.  de  Bragelonne  ! ” 

Raoul  became  as  pale  as  death ; his  eyes  flashed  like 
lightning,  and  made  De  Wardes  fall  back.  Buckingham 
himself  was  horror-struck,  and  threw  himself  between 
the  two  adversaries,  whom  he  expected  to  see  precipitate 
themselves  on  each  other.  De  Wardes  had  reserved  this 
insult  for  the  last ; he  clasped  his  sword  convulsively  in 
his  hand,  and  awaited  the  encounter.  “ You  are  right, 
Monsieur,”  said  Raoul,  mastering  his  emotion,  “ I am 
only  acquainted  with  my  father’s  name  ; but  I know  too 
well  that  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  is  an  upright  and  honor- 
able man  to  fear  for  a single  moment  that  there  is,  as  you 
seem  to  say,  any  stain  upon  my  birth.  My  ignorance, 
therefore,  of  my  mother’s  name  is  merely  a misfortune  for 
me,  and  not  a reproach.  You  are  deficient  in  loyalty  of 
conduct,  Monsieur ; you  are  wanting  in  courtesy,  in  re- 
proaching me  with  a misfortune.  No  matter ; the  insult 
is  given,  and  this  time  I hold  myself  insulted.  It  is  quite 
understood,  then,  that  after  you  shall  have  received  satis- 
faction from  M.  d’Artagnan,  you  will  settle  your  quarrel 
with  me.” 

“ I admire  your  prudence,  Monsieur,”  replied  De 
Wardes,  with  a bitter  smile ; “ a little  while  ago  you 
promised  me  a sword-thrust  from  M.  d’Artagnan,  and 


FROM  HAVRE  TO  PARIS. 


373 


now  you  offer  me  one  from  yourself,  after  I shall  have 
received  his.” 

“ Do  not  disturb  yourself,”  replied  Raoul,  with  concen- 
trated anger  ; “ in  matters  of  fence  M.  d’Artagnan  is  ex- 
ceedingly skilful,  and  I will  beg  him  as  a favor  to  treat 
you  as  he  did  your  father,  — in  other  words,  not  to  put 
an  end  to  your  life,  but  to  leave  me  the  pleasure,  after 
your  recovery,  of  killing  you  outright ; for  you  have  a 
wicked  heart,  M.  de  Wardes,  and  in  very  truth,  too  many 
precautions  cannot  be  taken  against  you.” 

“ I shall  take  my  precautions  against  you,  Monsieur,” 
said  De  Wardes  ; “ be  assured  of  it.” 

“ Allow  me,  Monsieur,”  said  Buckingham,  “ to  trans- 
late your  remark  by  a piece  of  advice  I am  about  to  give 
M.  de  Bragelonne : M.  de  Bragelonne,  wear  a cuirass.” 

De  Wardes  clenched  his  hands.  “Ah!  I understand,” 
said  he,  “you  two  gentlemen  intend  to  wait  until  you 
have  taken  that  precaution  before  you  measure  your 
swords  against  mine.” 

“Very  well,  Monsieur,”  said  Raoul,  “since  you  posi- 
tively will  have  it  so,  let  us  settle  the  affair  now  ; ” and 
drawing  his  sword,  he  advanced  towards  De  Wardes. 
“What  are  you  going  to  do?”  asked  Buckingham. 

“ Be  easy,”  said  Raoul ; “ it  will  not  be  very  long.” 

De  Wardes  placed  himself  on  his  guard  ; their  swords 
crossed.  De  Wardes  flew  upon  Raoul  with  such  impetu- 
osity that  at  the  first  clashing  of  the  steel  it  was  evident 
to  Buckingham  that  Raoul  would  manage  his  adversary. 
Buckingham  stepped  aside,  and  watched  the  struggle. 
Raoul  was  as  calm  as  if  he  were  handling  a foil  instead 
of  a sword  ; having  retreated  a step  to  gain  room,  he 
parried  three  or  four  fierce  thrusts  which  De  Wardes 
made  at  him,  caught  the  sword  of  the  latter  within  his 
own  and  sent  it  flying  twenty  paces  the  other  side  of  the 


374 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BEAGELONNE. 


barrier.  Then,  as  De  Wardes  stood  disarmed  and  as- 
tounded at  his  defeat,  Raoul  sheathed  his  sword,  seized 
him  by  the  collar  and  the  waistband,  and  hurled  him 
also  to  the  other  side  of  the  barrier,  trembling  and  mad 
with  rage. 

“We  shall  meet  again,”  growled  De  Wardes,  rising 
from  the  ground  and  picking  up  his  sword. 

“ Pardieu  ! ” said  Raoul,  “ I have  done  nothing  for  the 
last  hour  but  say  the  same  thing.”  Then,  turning  towards 
Buckingham,  he  said,  “ Not  a word  about  this  affair,  Duke, 
I entreat  you  ; I am  ashamed  to  have  gone  so  far,  but  my 
anger  carried  me  away,  and  I ask  your  forgiveness  for  it, 
— forget  it.” 

“ Dear  viscount,”  said  the  duke,  pressing  within  his 
own  the  vigorous  and  valiant  hand  of  his  companion, 
“ allow  me,  on  the  contrary,  to  remember  it,  and  to  look 
after  your  safety  ; that  man  is  dangerous,  — he  will  kill 
you.” 

“My  father,”  replied  Raoul,  “lived  for  twenty  years 
under  the  menace  of  a much  more  formidable  enemy, 
and  he  still  lives.” 

“Your  father  had  good  friends,  Viscount.” 

“Yes,”  sighed  Raoul,  “such  friends,  indeed,  that  none 
are  now  left  like  them.” 

“ Do  not  say  that,  I beg,  at  the  very  moment  when  I 
offer  you  my  friendship;”  and  Buckingham  opened  his 
arms  to  embrace  Raoul,  who  delightedly  received  the 
proffered  alliance.  “In  my  family,”  added  Buckingham, 
“ vou  are  aware,  M.  de  Bragelonne,  that  we  die  to  save 
those  we  love.” 

“ I know  it  well,  Duke,”  replied  Raoul. 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  375 


CHAPTER  XL. 

WHAT  THE  CHEVALIER  DE  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE 
PRINCESS. 

Nothing  further  disturbed  the  serenity  of  the  journey. 
Under  a pretext  which  was  little  remarked,  M.  de  Wardes 
went  forward  in  advance  of  the  others.  He  took  Mani- 
camp  with  him,  for  his  equable  and  dreamy  disposition 
acted  as  a counterpoise  to  his  own.  It  is  a subject  of 
remark,  that  quarrelsome  and  restless  characters  invari- 
ably seek  the  companionship  of  gentle,  timorous  disposi- 
tions, as  if  the  former  sought,  in  the  contrast,  a repose 
from  their  own  ill-humor,  and  the  latter  a protection  for 
their  own  weakness.  Buckingham  and  Bragelonne,  ad- 
mitting De  G niche  into  their  friendship,  sounded,  in 
concert  with  him,  the  praises  of  the  princess  during  the 
whole  of  the  journey.  Bragelonne  had,  however,  insisted 
that  their  three  voices  should  be  in  concert,  instead  of 
singing  in  solo  parts,  as  De  Guiche  and  his  rival  seemed 
to  have  acquired  a dangerous  habit  of  doing.  This  style 
of  harmony  pleased  the  queen-mother  exceedingly ; but 
it  was  not  perhaps  so  agreeable  to  the  young  princess, 
who  was  an  incarnation  of  coquetry,  and  who  without 
fear  for  herself  sought  occasions  of  peril.  She  possessed 
one  of  those  fearless  and  incautious  dispositions  which 
find  gratification  in  an  excess  of  susceptibility,  and  for 
whom,  also,  danger  has  a certain  fascination.  And  so  her 
glances,  her  smiles,  her  toilets  — an  inexhaustible  armory 
of  weapons  of  offence  — were  showered  down  upon  the 


876 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


three  young  men  with  overwhelming  force ; and  from 
her  well-stored  arsenal  issued  glances,  compliments,  and 
a thousand  other  charming  little  attentions  which  were 
intended  to  strike  at  long  range  the  gentlemen  who 
formed  the  escort,  the  townspeople,  the  officers  of  the 
different  cities  through  which  she  passed,  pages,  popu- 
lace, and  servants  : it  was  wholesale  slaughter,  a universal 
devastation. 

By  the  time  the  princess  arrived  at  Paris,  she  had 
reduced  to  slavery  about  a hundred  thousand  lovers,  and 
brought  in  her  train  to  Paris  half-a-dozen  men  who  were 
almost  mad  about  her,  and  two  who  were  quite  out  of 
their  minds.  Baoul  was  the  only  person  who  divined 
the  power  of  this  woman’s  attraction ; and  as  his  heart 
was  already  engaged,  and  thus  proof  against  her  arrows, 
he  arrived  at  the  capital  cool  and  distrustful.  Occa- 
sionally during  the  journey  he  conversed  with  the  Queen 
of  England  respecting  the  power  of  fascination  which  the 
princess  exercised ; and  the  mother,  whom  so  many  mis- 
fortunes and  deceptions  had  taught  experience,  replied  : 
“ Henrietta  was  sure  to  be  illustrious  in  one  way  or  an- 
other, whether  born  in  a palace  or  in  obscurity  ; for  she 
is  a woman  of  great  imagination,  capricious,  and  self- 
willed.” 

De  Wardes  and  Manicamp,  in  their  character  of  heralds, 
had  announced  the  princess’s  arrival. 

The  procession  was  met  at  Nanterre  by  a brilliant 
escort  of  cavaliers  and  carriages.  It  was  Monsieur  him- 
self, who,  followed  by  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  and  by 
his  favorites,  the  latter  being  themselves  followed  by 
a portion  of  the  king’s  military  household,  had  come  to 
meet  his  affianced  bride.  At  St.  Germain  the  princess 
and  her  mother  had  changed  their  heavy  travelling-car- 
riage, somewhat  impaired  by  the  journey,  for  a rich  and 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  377 


elegant  chariot  drawn  by  six  horses  with  white  and  gold 
harness.  Seated  in  this  open  carriage,  as  though  upon 
a throne,  and  beneath  a canopy  of  embroidered  silk 
fringed  with  waving  plumes,  appeared  the  young  and 
lovely  princess,  on  whose  beaming  face  were  reflected 
the  softened  rose-tints  which  suited  her  pearly  skin  to 
perfection.  Monsieur,  on  reaching  the  carriage,  was 
struck  by  her  beauty  ; he  signified  his  admiration  in  so 
marked  a manner  that  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  shrugged 
his  shoulders  among  the  group  of  courtiers,  while  Buck- 
ingham and  the  Comte  de  Guiche  were  almost  heart- 
broken. After  the  usual  courtesies  had  been  rendered, 
and  the  ceremony  completed,  the  whole  procession  slowly 
resumed  the  road  to  Paris.  The  presentations  had  been 
carelessly  made,  and  Buckingham,  with  the  rest  of  the 
English  gentlemen,  had  been  introduced  to  Monsieur, 
from  whom  they  had  received  but  a very  indifferent 
attention.  But  during  their  progress,  as  he  observed 
that  the  duke  devoted  himself  with  his  accustomed  ardor 
to  the  carriage  door,  he  asked  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine, 
his  inseparable  companion,  “ Who  is  that  cavalier  % ” 

“He  was  presented  to  your  Highness  a short  time 
since  ; it  is  the  handsome  Duke  of  Buckingham.” 

“ Yes,  yes,  I remember.” 

“ The  princess’s  knight,”  added  the  favorite,  with  an 
inflection  of  the  voice  which  envious  minds  can  alone 
give  to  the  simplest  phrases. 

“What  do  you  say?”  replied  the  prince,  who  was  still 
on  horseback. 

“ 1 said,  4 the  princess’s  knight.’  ” 

“ Has  she  a recognized  knight,  then  ? ” 

“One  would  think  you  might  judge  of  that  for  your- 
self ; see  how  they  are  laughing  and  flirting,  both  of 
them.” 


378 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ All  three  of  them.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  by  all  three  % ” 

“ Do  you  not  see  that  De  Guiche  is  one  of  the  party  % ” 
“Yes,  I see.  But  what  does  that  prove  1 — that  the 
princess  has  two  admirers  instead  of  one.” 

“You  poison  everything,  viper ! ” 

“ I poison  nothing.  Ah  ! your  royal  Highness’s  mind 
is  very  perverted.  The  honors  of  the  kingdom  of  France 
are  being  paid  to  your  wife,  and  you  are  not  satisfied.” 
The  Duke  of  Orleans  dreaded  the  satirical  humor  of  the 
chevalier  whenever  he  found  it  reached  a certain  degree 
of  bitterness,  and  he  changed  the  conversation  abruptly. 
“The  princess  is  pretty,”  said  he,  negligently,  as  if  he 
were  speaking  of  a stranger. 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  chevalier,  in  the  same  tone. 

“You  say  ‘yes’  like  a ‘no.’  She  has  very  beautiful 
black  eyes,  I think.” 

“Yes,  but  small.” 

“True,  but  they  are  brilliant.  She  has  a good  figure.” 
“Her  figure  is  a little  spoiled,  Monseigneur.” 

“I  do  not  deny  it.  She  has  a noble  appearance.” 

“ Yes,  but  her  face  is  thin.” 

“ I thought  her  teeth  beautiful.” 

“ They  can  easily  be  seen,  for  her  mouth  is  large 
enough.  Decidedly  I was  wrong,  my  Lord ; you  are  cer- 
tainly handsomer  than  your  wife.” 

“ But  do  you  think  me  as  handsome  as  Buckingham  1 ” 
“ Certainly,  and  he  thinks  so  too ; for,  look,  my  Lord, 
he  is  redoubling  his  attentions  to  the  princess,  to  prevent 
your  effacing  the  impression  he  has  made.” 

Monsieur  made  a movement  of  impatience ; but  as  he 
noticed  a smile  of  triumph  pass  over  the  chevalier’s  lips, 
he  drew  up  his  horse  to  a foot-pace.  “ Why,”  said  he, 
“ should  I occupy  myself  any  longer  about  my  cousin  ? 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  379 


Do  I not  already  know  her?  Were  we  not  brought  up 
together  ? Did  I not  see  her  at  the  Louvre  when  she  was 
quite  a child  ? ” 

“A  great  change  has  taken  place  in  her  since  then, 
Prince,  ’ said  the  chevalier  ; “ at  the  period  you  allude 
to,  she  was  somewhat  less  brilliant,  and  somewhat  less 
proud  too.  One  evening,  particularly,  you  may  remem- 
ber, my  Lord,  the  king  refused  to  dance  with  her,  because 
he  thought  her  plain  and  badly  dressed  ! ” 

These  words  made  the  Duke  of  Orleans  frown.  It 
was  by  no  means  flattering  for  him  to  marry  a princess 
of  whom,  when  young,  the  king  had  not  thought  much. 
He  might  probably  have  replied,  but  at  this  moment 
De  Guiche  quitted  the  carriage  to  join  the  prince. 
From  a distance  he  had  seen  the  prince  and  the  cheva- 
lier, and  full  of  anxious  attention  he  seemed  to  be  trying 
to  guess  the  nature  of  the  remarks  which  they  had  just 
exchanged. 

Whether  from  treachery  or  from  imprudence,  the  cheva- 
lier did  not  take  the  trouble  to  dissimulate.  “ Count,”  said 
he,  “you  ’re  a man  of  excellent  taste.” 

“ Thank  you  for  the  compliment,”  replied  De  Guiche  ; 
“but  why  do  you  say  that?  ” 

“ Well,  I appeal  to  his  Highness  ! ” 

“No  doubt  of  it,”  said  Monsieur;  “ and  Guiche  knows 
perfectly  well  that  I regard  him  as  a most  finished 
cavalier.” 

“ Well,  that  question  settled,  Count,  I resume.  You 
have  been  in  the  princess’s  society,  Count,  for  the  last 
week,  have  you  not  ? ” 

“Yes,”  replied  De  Guiche,  coloring  in  spite  of  him- 
self. 

“Well,  then,  tell  us  frankly,  what  do  you  think  of  her 
personal  appearance  ? ” 


380 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“Of  her  personal  appearance?”  returned  De  Guiche, 
amazed. 

u Yes  ; of  her  appearance,  of  her  mind,  — of  herself,  in 
fact.” 

Astounded  by  this  question,  De  Guiche  hesitated  in 
answering. 

“ Come,  come,  De  Guiche,”  resumed  the  chevalier, 
laughingly,  “tell  us  your  opinion  frankly;  the  prince 
commands  it.” 

“Yes,  yes,”  said  the  prince,  “ be  frank.” 

De  Guiche  stammered  out  a few  unintelligible  words. 

“ I am  perfectly  well  aware,”  returned  Monsieur,  “ that 
the  subject  is  a delicate  one,  but  you  know  you  can  tell 
me  everything.  What  do  you  think  of  her?” 

In  order  to  avoid  betraying  his  real  thoughts,  De 
Guiche  had  recourse  to  the  only  defence  which  a man 
taken  by  surprise  really  has,  and  accordingly  told  an 
untruth.  “ I do  not  think  the  princess,”  he  said,  “ either 
good  or  bad  looking,  yet  rather  good  than  bad  looking.” 

“ What  ! my  dear  count,”  exclaimed  the  chevalier, 
“you,  who  went  into  such  ecstasies  and  uttered  so  many 
exclamations  at  the  sight  of  her  portrait  ! ” 

De  Guiche  colored  violently.  Very  fortunately  his 
horse,  which  was  slightly  restive,  enabled  him  by  a sud- 
den plunge  to  conceal  his  agitation.  “ What  portrait  ? ” 
he  murmured,  joining  them  again. 

The  chevalier  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  him.  “Yes, 
the  portrait.  Was  not  the  miniature  a good  likeness?  ” 

“ I do  not  remember.  I have  forgotten  the  portrait ; it 
has  quite  escaped  my  recollection.” 

“ And  yet  it  made  a very  marked  impression  upon  you,” 
said  the  chevalier. 

“ That  is  not  unlikely.” 

“ Is  she  clever,  at  all  events  ? ” inquired  the  duke. 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  381 


“ I believe  so,  my  Lord.” 

“ Is  M.  de  Buckingham  so  too*?”  said  the  chevalier. 

“ I do  not  know.” 

“ My  own  opinion  is  that  he  must  be,”  replied  the 
chevalier,  “ for  he  makes  the  princess  laugh,  and  she  seems 
to  take  no  little  pleasure  in  his  society,  — which  never  is 
the  case  with  a clever  woman  when  in  the  company  of  a 
simpleton.” 

“ Of  course,  then,  he  must  be  clever,”  said  De  Guiche, 
simply. 

At  this  moment  Baoul  opportunely  arrived,  seeing  how 
De  Guiche  was  pressed  by  his  dangerous  questioner, 
to  whom  he  addressed  a remark,  and  so  changed  the 
conversation. 

The  entrance  into  the  city  was  brilliant  and  joyous. 
The  king,  in  honor  of  his  brother,  had  directed  that  the 
festivities  should  be  on  a scale  of  the  greatest  magnifi- 
cence. The  princess  and  her  mother  alighted  at  the 
Louvre,  where  during  their  exile  they  had  so  gloomily 
submitted  to  obscurity,  misery,  and  privations  of  every 
description.  That  palace,  which  had  been  so  inhospi- 
table a residence  for  the  unhappy  daughter  of  Henry 
IV.,  with  its  naked  walls,  its  sunken  floorings,  its  ceil- 
ings covered  with  cobwebs,  the  vast  but  broken  marble 
chimney-places,  its  cold  hearths  on  which  the  charity 
extended  to  them  by  parliament  had  hardly  permitted 
a fire  to  glow,  was  completely  altered  in  appearance.  It 
now  contained  the  richest  hangings  and  the  thickest 
carpets,  glistening  flagstones  and  new  pictures,  with 
their  richly  gilded  frames;  everywhere  could  be  seen 
candelabras,  mirrors,  and  furniture  and  fittings  of  the 
most  sumptuous  character ; everywhere  also  were  guards 
of  the  proudest  military  bearing  with  floating  plumes, 
crowds  of  attendants  and  courtiers  in  the  antechambers 


382 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  upon  the  staircases.  In  the  courtyards,  where  the 
grass  but  lately  grew,  — as  if  the  ungrateful  Mazarin 
had  thought  it  a good  idea  to  let  the  Parisians  per- 
ceive that  solitude  and  disorder  were,  with  misery  and 
despair,  the  proper  accompaniments  of  a fallen  monarchy, 
— in  these  immense  courtyards,  formerly  silent  and  deso- 
late, paraded  cavaliers  whose  prancing  horses  drew  sparks 
from  the  glistening  flagstones.  Carriages  were  filled  with 
young  and  beautiful  women,  who  awaited  the  opportu- 
nity of  saluting,  as  she  passed,  the  daughter  of  that 
daughter  of  France  who  during  her  widowhood  and  her 
exile  had  sometimes  gone  without  wood  for  her  fire  or 
bread  for  her  table,  and  whom  the  meanest  attendants  of 
the  palace  had  treated  with  indifference  and  contempt. 

And  so  Madame  Henrietta  returned  to  the  Louvre,  her 
heart  swollen  with  grief  and  bitter  recollections  ; while 
her  daughter,  whose  disposition  was  fickle  and  forgetful, 
returned  to  it  with  triumph  and  delight.  Madame  Hen- 
rietta knew  but  too  well  that  the  present  brilliant  recep- 
tion was  paid  to  the  happy  mother  of  a king  restored  to 
his  throne,  and  that  throne  second  to  none  in  Europe ; 
while  the  poor  reception  she  had  before  received  was  paid 
to  her,  the  daughter  of  Henry  IV.,  as  a punishment  for 
having  been  unfortunate. 

After  the  princesses  had  been  installed  in  their  apart- 
ments and  had  rested  themselves,  the  gentlemen  who 
had  formed  their  escort,  having  in  like  manner  recov- 
ered from  their  fatigue,  resumed  their  accustomed  habits 
and  occupations. 

Bragelonne  began  by  setting  off  to  see  his  father ; but 
he  had  left  for  Blois.  He  then  tried  to  see  M.  d’Ar- 
tagnan  ; but  he,  being  engaged  in  the  organization  of  a 
new  military  household  for  the  king,  could  not  be  found 
anywhere.  Bragelonne  next  fell  back  upon  De  Guiche; 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  383 

but  the  count  was  occupied  in  a long  conference  with  his 
tailors  and  with  Manicamp,  which  consumed  his  whole 
time.  With  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  he  fared  still 
worse,  for  the  duke  was  purchasing  horses  after  horses, 
diamonds  upon  diamonds ; he  monopolized  every  em- 
broiderer, jeweller,  and  tailor  that  Paris  could  boast  of. 
Between  De  Guiche  and  Buckingham  a vigorous  contest 
ensued,  more  or  less  courteous,  in  which,  in  order  to 
insure  success,  the  duke  was  ready  to  spend  a million ; 
while  the  Marechal  de  Grammont  had  only  allowed  his 
son  sixty  thousand  livres.  So  Buckingham  laughed  and 
spent  his  million.  De  Guiche  groaned  in  despair,  and 
would  have  torn  his  hair  had  it  not  been  for  the  advice 
Bragelonne  gave  him. 

“ A million  ! ” repeated  De  Guiche,  daily ; “ I must  sub- 
mit. Why  will  not  the  marshal  advance  me  a portion 
of  my  patrimony  1 ” 

“ Because  you  will  throw  it  away,”  said  Raoul. 

“ What  can  that  matter  to  him  1 If  I am  to  die  of  it, 
I shall  die  of  it,  and  then  I shall  need  nothing  further.” 

“ But  what  need  is  there  to  die  ? ” said  Raoul. 

“ I do  not  wish  to  be  surpassed  in  elegance  by  an 
Englishman.” 

“ My  dear  count,”  said  Manicamp,  “elegance  is  not 
a costly  commodity,  it  is  only  a very  difficult  one.” 

“ Yes,  but  difficult  things  cost  a good  deal  of  money, 
and  I have  only  sixty  thousand  livres.” 

“ A very  embarrassing  state  of  things,  truly  ! ” said  De 
Wardes.  “ Spend  as  much  as  Buckingham  ; there  is  only 
a difference  of  nine  hundred  and  forty  thousand  livres.” 

“ Where  am  I to  find  them  h ” 

“ Get  into  debt.” 

“ I am  so  already.” 

“ A greater  reason  for  getting  further.” 


384 


THE  VICOMTE  I)E  BRAGELONNE. 


Advice  like  this  resulted  in  De  Guiche  becoming  ex- 
cited to  such  an  extent  that  he  committed  extravagances 
where  Buckingham  only  incurred  expenses.  The  rumor 
of  this  prodigality  delighted  the  hearts  of  all  the  shop- 
keepers in  Paris ; from  the  hotel  of  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham to  that  of  Grammont  nothing  but  wonders  was 
dreamed  of. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  princess  was  resting 
herself,  and  Bragelonne  was  engaged  in  writing  to  Made- 
moiselle de  la  Valliere.  He  had  already  despatched  four 
letters,  and  not  an  answer  to  any  one  of  them  had  been 
received,  when,  on  the  very  morning  fixed  for  the  mar- 
riage ceremony,  which  was  to  take  place  in  the  chapel  at 
the  Palais-Royal,  Raoul,  who  was  dressing,  heard  his 
valet  announce  M.  de  Malieorne.  “ What  can  this  Mali- 
corne  want  with  me  ] ” thought  Raoul ; and  then  said  to 
his  valet,  “ Let  him  wait.” 

“It  is  a gentleman  from  Blois,”  said  the  valet. 

“ Admit  him  at  once,”  said  Raoul,  eagerly. 

Malieorne  entered,  brilliant  as  a star,  and  wearing  a 
superb  sword  by  his  side.  After  having  saluted  Raoul 
most  gracefully,  he  said  : “ M.  de  Bragelonne,  I am  the 
bearer  of  a thousand  compliments  from  a lady  to  you.” 

Raoul  colored.  “ From  a lady,”  said  he,  — “ from  a lady 
of  Blois  ? ” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur;  from  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais.” 

“ Thank  you,  Monsieur ; I recollect  you  now,”  said 
Raoul.  “ And  what  does  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais 
desire  of  me  1 ” 

Malieorne  drew  four  letters  from  his  pocket  which  he 
offered  to  Raoul. 

“ My  own  letters  ! is  it  possible  ? ” he  said,  turning  pale  ; 
“ my  letters,  and  the  seals  unbroken  ! ” 

“ Monsieur,  your  letters  did  not  find,  at  Blois,  the  per- 


WHAT  LORRAINE  THOUGHT  OF  THE  PRINCESS.  385 


son  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  and  so  they  are  now 
returned  to  you.” 

“Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  has  left  Blois,  then'?* 
exclaimed  Raoul. 

“ A week  ago.” 

“ Where  is  she,  then  ? ” 

“ She  must  be  at  Paris,  Monsieur.” 

“ But  how  was  it  known  that  these  letters  came  from 
me  'i  ” 

“ Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  recognized  your  hand- 
writing and  your  seal,”  said  Malicorne. 

Raoul  colored  and  smiled.  “ Mademoiselle  de  Mon- 
talais is  exceedingly  good,”  he  said  ; “ she  is  always  kind 
and  charming.” 

“ Always,  Monsieur.” 

“Surely  she  could  give  me  some  precise  information 
about  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere.  I could  never  find 
her  in  this  immense  city. 

Malicorne  drew  another  packet  from  his  pocket.  “ You 
may  possibly  find  in  this  letter  what  you  are  anxious  to 
learn.” 

Raoul  hurriedly  broke  the  seal.  The  writing  was  that 
of  Mademoiselle  Aure,  and  the  letter  contained  these 
words  : — 

Paris,  Palais-Royal. 

The  day  of  the  nuptial  benediction. 

“ What  does  this  mean  1 ” inquired  Raoul  of  Malicorne  ; 
“you  probably  know,  Monsieur.” 

“ I do,  Monsieur  the  Viscount.” 

“For  pity’s  sake,  tell  me,  then.” 

“ Impossible,  Monsieur.” 

“ Why  so  1 ” 

“ Because  Mademoiselle  Aure  has  forbidden  me  to 
do  so.” 

VOL.  it.  — 25 


386 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Raoul  looked  at  his  strange  companion,  and  remained 
silent.  “ At  least,”  he  resumed,  “ tell  me  whether  it  is 
advantageous  to  me  or  not.” 

“ That  you  will  see.” 

“ You  are  very  strict  in  your  reservations.” 

“ Will  you  grant  me  a favor,  Monsieur  1 ” said  Malicorne 
“ In  exchange  for  that  which  you  refuse  me  ” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ What  is  it  1 ” 

“ I have  the  greatest  desire  to  see  the  ceremony,  and 
I have  no  ticket  to  admit  me,  in  spite  of  all  the  steps  I 
have  taken  to  secure  one.  Could  you  get  me  admitted  ? ” 
“ Certainly.” 

“ Do  me  this  kindness,  then,  I entreat,  Monsieur  the 
Viscount.” 

“Most  willingly,  Monsieur;  come  with  me.” 

“ I am  exceedingly  indebted  to  you,  Monsieur,”  said 
Malicorne. 

u I thought  you  were  a friend  of  M.  de  Manicamp.” 

“ I am,  Monsieur ; but  this  morning  I was  with  him 
as  he  was  dressing,  and  I let  a bottle  of  blacking  fall 
over  his  new  dress,  and  he  flew  at  me  with  his  sword  in 
his  hand,  so  that  I was  obliged  to  make  my  escape. 
That  is  the  reason  I could  not  ask  him  for  a ticket ; he 
would  have  killed  me.” 

“I  can  believe  it,”  said  Raoul.  “I  know  Manicamp  is 
capable  of  killing  a man  who  has  been  unfortunate  enough 
to  commit  the  crime  you  have  to  reproach  yourself  with, 
but  I will  repair  the  mischief  as  far  as  you  are  concerned. 
I will  but  fasten  my  cloak,  and  shall  then  be  ready  to 
serve  you,  not  only  as  a guide,  but  as  an  introducer  also.” 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  387 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE  SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS. 

The  princess  was  married  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Palais- 
Royal,  in  the  presence  of  a crowd  of  courtiers,  who  had 
been  most  scrupulously  selected.  However,  notwithstand- 
ing the  marked  favor  which  an  invitation  indicated,  Raoul, 
faithful  to  his  promise  to  Malicorne,  who  was  so  anxious 
to  witness  the  ceremony,  obtained  admission  for  him. 
After  he  had  fulfilled  this  engagement,  Raoul  approached 
He  Guiche,  who,  as  if  in  contrast  with  his  magnificent 
costume,  exhibited  a countenance  so  utterly  cast  down 
by  grief  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  was  the  only  one 
present  who  could  contend  with  him  in  pallor  and 
dejection. 

“ Take  care,  Count ! ” said  Raoul,  approaching  his  friend, 
and  preparing  to  support  him  at  the  moment  when  the 
archbishop  blessed  the  married  couple.  In  fact,  the 
Prince  of  Conde  was  seen  attentively  scrutinizing  these 
two  images  of  desolation,  standing  like  caryatides  at  either 
side  of  the  nave  of  the  church.  The  count,  therefore, 
kept  a more  careful  watch  over  himself. 

At  the  termination  of  the  ceremony,  the  king  and  queen 
passed  onward  to  the  grand  reception-room,  where  Madame 
and  her  suite  were  to  be  presented  to  them.  It  was  re- 
marked that  the  king,  who  had  seemed  more  than  sur- 
prised at  his  sister-in-law’s  appearance,  was  most  flattering 
in  his  compliments  to  her.  Again,  it  was  remarked  that 
the  queen-mother,  fixing  a long  and  thoughtful  gaze  upon 


388 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


Buckingham,  leaned  towards  Madame  de  Motteville  as 
though  to  ask  her,  “ Do  you  not  see  how  much  he  resem- 
bles his  hither  % ” and  finally  it  was  remarked  that  Mon- 
sieur watched  everybody,  and  seemed  very  discontented. 
After  the  reception  of  the  princes  and  ambassadors,  Mon- 
sieur solicited  the  king’s  permission  to  present  to  him,  as 
well  as  to  Madame,  the  persons  belonging  to  their  new 
household. 

“Are  you  aware,  Viscount,”  inquired  the  Prince  de 
Conde  of  Raoul,  “ whether  the  household  has  been  selected 
by  a person  of  taste,  and  whether  there  are  any  faces  worth 
looking  at  V9 

“ I have  not  the  slightest  idea,  Monseigneur,5  5 replied 
Raoul. 

“ You  affect  ignorance,  surely.” 

“ In  what  way,  Monseigneur  ? ” 

“ You  are  a friend  of  De  Guiche,  who  is  one  of  the 
friends  of  the  prince.” 

“ That  may  be  so,  Monseigneur ; but  the  matter  having 
no  interest  whatever  for  me,  I never  questioned  De  Guiche 
on  the  subject ; and  De  Guiche  on  his  part,  never  having 
been  questioned,  has  not  communicated  any  particulars 
to  me.” 

“ But  Manicamp  1 ” 

“ It  is  true  I saw  M.  de  Manicamp  at  Havre,  and 
during  the  journey  here,  but  I was  very  careful  to  be  as 
little  inquisitive  towards  him  as  I had  been  towards  De 
Guiche  ; besides,  is  it  likely  that  M.  de  Manicamp  should 
know  anything  of  such  matters  ? He  is  a person  of  only 
secondary  importance.” 

“ Eh,  my  dear  viscount,  do  you  not  know  better  than 
that!”  said  the  prince.  “ Why,  it  is  these  persons  of 
secondary  importance  who  on  such  occasions  have  all 
the  influence  j and  the  proof  is  that  nearly  everything 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  389 

has  been  done  through  Manicamp’s  presentations  to 
De  Guiche  and  through  De  Guiche  to  Monsieur.” 
“Well,  Monseigneur,  I was  completely  ignorant  of 
that,”  said  Raoul ; “ and  what  your  Highness  does  me 
the  honor  to  impart  is  perfectly  new  to  me.” 

“ I will  most  readily  believe  you,  although  it  seems  in- 
credible ; besides,  we  shall  not  have  long  to  wait.  See, 
the  flying  squadron  is  advancing,  as  good  Queen  Cather- 
ine used  to  say.  Ah  ! what  pretty  faces ! ” 

A bevy  of  young  girls  at  this  moment  entered  the  room, 
conducted  by  Madame  de  Navailles  ; and  to  Manicamp’s 
credit,  be  it  said,  if  indeed  he  had  taken  that  part  in  their 
selection  which  the  Prince  de  Conde  had  alleged,  it  was 
a display  calculated  to  dazzle  those  who,  like  the  prince, 
could  appreciate  every  character  and  style  of  beauty.  A 
young  fair-complexioned  girl,  who  might  be  twenty  or 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  whose  large  blue  eyes  flashed, 
as  she  opened  them,  in  the  most  dazzling  manner,  walked 
at  the  head  of  the  band,  and  was  the  first  presented. 

“ Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente,”  said  Madame  de 
Navailles  to  Monsieur,  who,  as  he  bowed  to  his  wife,  re- 
peated, “ Mademoiselle  de  Tonnay-Charente.” 

“Ah,”  said  the  prince,  turning  to  Raoul,  “she  seems 
tolerable  enough.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Raoul ; “ she  is  pretty,  but  has  a somewhat 
haughty  style.” 

“Bah  ! we  know  these  airs  very  well,  Viscount;  three 
months  hence  she  will  be  tame  enough.  But  look,  — 
there  indeed  is  a beauty  ! ” 

“ Yes,”  said  Raoul,  “ and  one  I am  acquainted  with.” 

“ Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais,”  said  Madame  de 
Navailles.  Monsieur  repeated  the  full  name  carefully. 

“ Great  heavens  ! ” exclaimed  Raoul,  fixing  his  bewil- 
dered gaze  upon  the  entrance  doorway. 


390 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ What’s  the  matter  h ” inquired  the  prince;  “ was  it 
Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Montalais  who  made  you  utter  such 
a ‘ Great  heavens  ’ ? ” 

“No,  Monseigneur,  no,”  replied  Eaoul,  pale  and 
trembling. 

“ Well,  then,  if  it  be  not  Mademoiselle  Aure  de  Monta- 
lais, it  is  that  charming  blonde  who  follows  her.  What 
beautiful  eyes ! She  is  rather  thin,  but  has  fascinations 
without  number.” 

“Mademoiselle  de  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de  la  Valliere  ! ” 
said  Madame  de  Navailles  ; and  as  this  name  resounded 
through  Raoul’s  whole  being,  a cloud  seemed  to  rise  from 
his  heart  to  his  eyes,  so  that  he  neither  saw  nor  heard 
anything  more.  The  prince,  finding  that  Raoul  remained 
silent  under  his  railleries,  moved  forward  to  inspect  some- 
what closer  the  beautiful  girls  whom  his  first  glance  had 
already  particularized. 

“ Louise  here  ! Louise  a maid  of  honor  to  Madame  ! ” 
murmured  Raoul ; and  his  eyes,  which  did  not  suffice  to 
satisfy  his  reason,  wandered  from  Louise  to  Montalais. 
The  latter  had  already  emancipated  herself  from  her  as- 
sumed timidity,  which  she  only  needed  for  the  presentation 
and  for  her  reverences. 

Mademoiselle  de  Montalais,  from  the  corner  of  the 
room  to  which  she  had  retired,  was  looking  with  no  slight 
degree  of  assurance  at  the  different  persons  present ; and 
having  discovered  Raoul,  she  amused  herself  with  the 
profound  astonishment  into  which  her  own  and  her 
friend’s  presence  there  had  thrown  the  poor  lover.  Her 
merry  and  mischievous  look,  which  Raoul  tried  to  avoid 
meeting,  and  yet  which  he  sought  inquiringly  from  time 
to  time,  placed  Raoul  on  the  rack.  As  for  Louise, 
whether  from  natural  timidity,  or  from  some  other  rea- 
son for  which  Raoul  could  not  account,  she  kept  her  eyes 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  391 

constantly  cast  down ; and  intimidated,  dazzled,  and  with 
heaving  breast,  she  withdrew  herself  as  much  as  possible, 
unaffected  even  by  the  hints  which  Montalais  gave  her 
with  her  elbow. 

The  whole  scene  was  a perfect  enigma  to  Raoul,  the 
key  to  which  the  poor  viscount  would  have  given  any- 
thing to  obtain.  But  no  one  was  there  who  could  assist 
him,  — not  even  Malicorne,  who,  a little  uneasy  at  finding 
himself  in  the  presence  of  so  many  persons  of  gentle 
birth,  and  not  a little  discouraged  by  Montalais’s  bantering 
glances,  had  described  a circle,  and  by  degrees  had  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  a few  paces  from  the  prince,  behind  the 
group  of  maids  of  honor,  and  nearly  within  reach  of  Made- 
moiselle Aure’s  voice,  she  being  the  planet  around  which 
he,  her  humble  satellite,  seemed  compelled  to  gravitate. 

As  he  recovered  his  self-possession,  Raoul  fancied  he 
recognized  voices  on  his  left  which  were  familiar  to  him, 
and  he  perceived  De  Wardes,  De  Guiche,  and  the  Cheva- 
lier de  Lorraine  conversing  together.  It  is  true  that 
they  were  talking  in  tones  so  low  that  the  sound  of  their 
words  could  hardly  be  heard  in  the  vast  apartment.  To 
speak  in  that  manner  from  any  particular  place  without 
bending  down,  or  turning  round,  or  looking  at  the  person 
with  whom  one  is  engaged  in  conversation,  is  a talent 
which  cannot  be  immediately  acquired  in  perfection  by 
new-comers.  A long  study  is  needed  for  such  conversa- 
tions, which,  without  a look,  gesture,  or  movement  of  the 
head,  seemed  like  the  conversation  of  a group  of  statues. 

In  fact,  in  the  king’s  and  the  queen’s  grand  assemblies, 
while  their  Majesties  were  speaking,  and  while  every  one 
present  seemed  to  be  listening  with  the  most  profound 
silence,  some  of  these  noiseless  conversations  took  place, 
in  which  adulation  was  not  the  prevailing  feature.  But 
Raoul  was  one  among  others  exceedingly  clever  in  this 


392 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE, 


art,  so  much  a matter  of  etiquette,  so  that  from  the  move- 
ment of  the  lips  he  was  often  able  to  guess  the  sense  of 
the  words. 

“ Who  is  that  Montalais  ? ” inquired  De  Wardes,  “ and 
that  La  Yalliere  ? What  country -town  have  we  had  sent 
here  ? ” 

“Montalais?”  said  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  “oh,  I 
know  her;  she  is  a good  sort  of  girl,  whom  we  shall  find 
amusing  enough.  La  Yalliere  is  a charming  girl,  slightly 
lame.” 

“ Humph  ! ” said  De  Wardes. 

“ Do  not  be  absurd,  De  Wardes  ! There  are  some  very 
characteristic  and  ingenious  Latin  axioms  upon  lame 
ladies.” 

“ Messieurs,  Messieurs,”  said  De  Guiche,  looking  at 
Raoul  with  uneasiness,  “ be  a little  careful,  I entreat 
you.” 

But  the  uneasiness  of  the  count,  in  appearance  at  least, 
was  not  needed.  Raoul  had  preserved  the  firmest  and 
most  indifferent  countenance,  although  he  had  not  lost 
a word  that  had  passed.  He  seemed  to  keep  an  account 
of  the  insolence  and  license  of  the  two  speakers,  in  order 
to  settle  matters  with  them  at  his  earliest  opportunity. 

De  Wardes  seemed  to  guess  what  was  passing  in  his 
mind,  and  continued,  “ Who  are  these  young  ladies’ 
lovers  ? ” 

“ Montalais’s  lover?  ” said  the  chevalier. 

“ Yes,  Montalais  first.” 

“Well,  you,  I,  or  De  Guiche,  — whoever  likes,  in 
fact.” 

“ And  the  other  ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle  de  la  Yalliere  ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Take  care,  Messieurs,”  exclaimed  De  Guiche,  anxious 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  393 

to  put  a stop  to  De  Wardes’s  reply,  “ take  care ! Madame 
is  listening  to  us.” 

Raoul  thrust  his  hand  up  to  the  wrist  into  his  doublet, 
and  left  the  mark  of  his  nails  on  his  flesh.  But  the  very 
malignity  which  he  saw  was  excited  against  these  poor 
girls  made  him  take  a serious  resolution.  “ Poor  Louise,” 
he  said  to  himself,  “ has  come  here  only  with  an  honor- 
able object  in  view  and  under  honorable  protection ; but 
I must  learn  what  that  object  is,  and  who  it  is  that  pro- 
tects her ; ” and  imitating  Malicorne’s  manoeuvre,  he 
made  his  way  towards  the  group  of  the  maids  of  honor. 
The  presentations  soon  terminated.  The  king,  who  had 
done  nothing  but  look  at  and  admire  Madame,  shortly 
afterwards  left  the  reception-room,  accompanied  by  the 
two  queens.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  resumed  his 
place  beside  Monsieur,  and,  as  he  accompanied  him,  insin- 
uated a few  drops  of  the  poison  which  he  had  collected 
during  the  last  hour,  while  looking  at  some  of  the  new 
faces  in  the  court,  and  suspecting  that  some  hearts  might 
be  happy.  A few  of  the  persons  present  followed  the 
king  as  he  went  out ; but  such  of  the  courtiers  as 
assumed  an  independence  of  character  and  professed  a 
gallantry  of  disposition,  began  to  approach  the  ladies. 
The  prince  paid  his  compliments  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Tonnay-Charente ; Buckingham  devoted  himself  to  Ma- 
dame de  Chalais  and  to  Madame  de  Lafayette,  whom 
Madame  had  already  distinguished  by  her  notice  and 
whom  she  held  in  high  regard.  As  for  the  Comte  de 
Guiche,  who  had  abandoned  Monsieur  as  soon  as  he 
could  approach  Madame  alone,  he  conversed,  with  great 
animation,  with  Madame  de  Valentinois  and  with  Mes- 
demoiselles  de  Crequy  and  de  Chatillon. 

Amid  these  varied  political  and  amorous  interests, 
Malicorne  was  anxious  to  gain  Montalais’s  attention ; 


394 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


but  the  latter  preferred  talking  with  Raoul,  even  if  it 
were  only  to  enjoy  his  numerous  questions  and  his  sur- 
prise. Raoul  had  gone  straight  to  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Valliere,  and  had  saluted  her  with  the  profoundest  re- 
spect, at  which  Louise  blushed  and  could  not  say  a word. 
Montalais,  however,  hurried  to  her  assistance. 

“Well,  Monsieur  the  Viscount,  here  we  are,  you  see.” 

“ I do  indeed  see  you,”  said  Raoul,  smiling ; “and  it  is 
exactly  because  you  are  here,  that  I wish  to  ask  for  some 
explanation.” 

Malicorne  approached  the  group  with  his  most  fasci- 
nating smile. 

“Go  away,  M.  Malicorne,”  said  Montalais  ; “ really,  you 
are  exceedingly  indiscreet.”  Malicorne  bit  his  lips  and 
retired  a few  steps,  without  making  any  reply.  His 
smile,  however,  changed  its  expression,  and  from  its 
former  frankness  became  mocking  in  its  expression. 

“ You  would  like  an  explanation,  M.  Raoul  ] ” inquired 
Montalais. 

“ The  situation  calls  for  one,  I think ; Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere  a maid  of  honor  to  Madame  ! ” 

“ Why  should  not  she  be  a maid  of  honor  as  well  as 
myself^”  inquired  Montalais. 

“ Pray  accept  my  compliments,  young  ladies,”  said 
Raoul,  who  fancied  that  he  perceived  that  they  were  not 
disposed  to  answer  him  in  a direct  manner. 

“ Your  remark  was  not  made  in  a very  complimentary 
manner,  Monsieur  the  Viscount.” 

“ Mine  ] ” 

“ Certainly  ; I appeal  to  Louise.” 

“ M.  de  Bragelonne  probably  thinks  the  position  is 
above  my  condition,”  said  Louise,  hesitatingly. 

“ Oh,  no,  Mademoiselle,”  replied  Raoul,  eagerly ; “you 
know  very  well  that  such  is  not  my  feeling.  Were  you 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  395 


called  upon  to  occupy  a queen’s  throne,  I should  not  be 
surprised  ; how  much  greater  reason,  then,  such  a posi- 
tion as  tins'?  The  only  circumstance  which  amazes  me 
is  that  I should  not  have  learned  it  until  to-day,  and  that 
by  mere  accident.” 

“ That  is  true,”  replied  Montalais  to  Louise,  with  her 
usual  giddiness ; “ you  know  nothing  about  it,  and  there 
is  no  reason  why  you  should.  M.  de  Bragelonne  had 
written  four  letters  to  you  ; but  your  mother  was  the 
only  person  who  remained  behind  at  Blois,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  prevent  these  letters  from  falling  into  her 
hands.  I intercepted  them,  and  returned  them  to  M. 
Baoul ; so  that  he  believed  you  were  still  at  Blois,  while 
you  were  here  in  Paris,  and  had  no  idea  how  high  you 
had  risen  in  rank.” 

“ Did  you  not  inform  M.  Raoul,  as  I begged  you  to  do  1 ” 
exclaimed  Louise. 

“ Why  should  I?  — to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  mak- 
ing some  of  his  severe  remarks  and  moral  reflections, 
and  to  undo  what  we  had  had  so  much  trouble  in  getting 
done  ] Oh,  certainly  not ! ” 

“ Am  I so  very  severe,  then  ? ” inquired  Raoul. 

“Besides,”  said  Montalais,  “it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
it  suited  me.  I was  about  setting  off  for  Paris ; you 
were  away.  Louise  was  weeping  her  eyes  out,  — interpret 
that  as  you  please.  I begged  a friend,  a protector  of 
mine,  who  had  obtained  the  appointment  for  me,  to  solicit 
one  for  Louise  ; the  appointment  arrived.  Louise  left 
in  order  to  get  her  costume  prepared  ; as  I had  my  own 
ready,  I remained  behind.  I received  your  letters,  and 
returned  them  to  you,  adding  a few  words,  promising  you 
a surprise.  Your  surprise  is  before  you,  Monsieur,  and 
seems  to  be  a fair  one  enough  ; you  have  nothing  more 
to  ask.  Come,  M.  Malicorne,  it  is  now  time  to  leave 


396 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


these  young  people  together ; they  have  many  things 
to  talk  about.  Give  me  your  hand ; I trust  that  you 
appreciate  the  honor  which  is  conferred  upon  you,  M. 
Malicorne.” 

“ Forgive  me,  Mademoiselle,”  said  Raoul,  arresting  the 
giddy  girl,  and  giving  to  his  voice  an  intonation  the 
gravity  of  which  contrasted  with  that  of  Montalais,  — 
“ forgive  me;  but  may  I inquire  the  name  of  the  protec- 
tor you  speak  of]  — for  if  protection  be  extended  to  you, 
Mademoiselle,  for  which,  indeed,  so  many  reasons  exist, ” 
added  Raoul,  bowing,  “ I do  not  see  that  the  same  reasons 
exist  why  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  should  be  similarly 
protected.” 

“ But,  M.  Raoul,’’  said  Louise,  innocently,  “ the  matter 
is  very  simple,  and  I do  not  see  why  I should  not  tell  it 
to  you  myself.  M.  Malicorne  obtained  the  appointment 
for  me.” 

Raoul  remained  for  a moment  amazed,  asking  himself 
if  they  were  trifling  with  him.  He  then  turned  round  to 
interrogate  Malicorne ; but  he  had  been  hurried  away  by 
Montalais,  and  was  already  at  some  distance  from  them. 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  attempted  to  follow  her  friend  ; 
but  Raoul,  with  gentle  authority,  detained  her.  “ Louise, 
one  word  only,  I beg.” 

“ But,  M.  Raoul,”  said  Louise,  blushing,  “ we  are  alone  ; 
every  one  has  left.  They  will  become  anxious,  and  will 
be  looking  for  us.” 

“ Fear  nothing,”  said  the  young  man,  smiling ; awe  are 
neither  of  us  of  sufficient  importance  for  our  absence  to 
be  remarked.” 

“ But  I have  my  duty  to  perform,  M.  Raoul.” 

“ Do  not  be  alarmed,  Mademoiselle  ! I am  acquainted 
with  -the  usages  of  the  court.  You  will  not  be  on  duty 
until  to-morrow;  a few  minutes  are  at  your  disposal,  which 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  397 


will  enable  you  to  give  me  the  explanation  I am  about  to 
have  the  honor  to  ask  of  you.” 

“ How  serious  you  are,  M.  Raoul ! ” said  Louise,  uneasily. 

“ Because  the  circumstance  is  a serious  one.  Are  you 
listening  ? ” 

“ I am  listening ; I would  only  repeat,  Monsieur,  that 
we  are  quite  alone.” 

“ You  are  right,”  said  Raoul;  and  offering  her  his  hand, 
he  led  the  young  girl  into  the  gallery  adjoining  the  re- 
ception-room, the  windows  of  which  looked  out  upon  the 
square.  Every  one  hurried  towards  the  middle  window, 
which  had  a balcony  outside,  from  which  all  the  details 
of  the  slow  and  formal  preparations  for  departure  could 
be  seen.  Raoul  opened  one  of  the  side  windows,  and 
then,  being  alone  with  Louise,  said  to  her  : “ You  know, 
Louise,  that  from  my  childhood  I have  regarded  you  as 
my  sister,  as  one  who  has  been  the  confidante  of  all  my 
troubles,  to  whom  I have  intrusted  all  my  hopes.” 

“ Yes,  M.  Raoul,”  she  answered  softly ; “yes,  I know 
that.” 

“ You  used,  on  your  side,  to  show  the  same  friendship 
towards  me,  and  had  the  same  confidence  in  me  ; why 
have  you  not,  on  this  occasion,  been  my  friend,  and  why 
have  you  shown  a suspicion  of  me  ? ” Mademoiselle  de 
la  Valliere  did  not  answer.  “ I had  thought  you  loved 
me,”  continued  Raoul,  whose  voice  became  more  and 
more  agitated;  “I  had  thought  that  you  consented  to 
all  the  plans  which  we  together  laid  down  for  our  own 
happiness,  at  the  time  when  we  wandered  up  and  down 
the  large  walks  of  Cour-Cheverny  and  under  the  avenue 
of  poplar-trees  leading  to  Blois.  You  do  not  answer  me, 
Louise.”  He  stopped.  “Is  it  possible,”  he  inquired, 
breathing  with  difficulty,  “ that  you  no  longer  love 
me?” 


398 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ I did  not  say  so/’  replied  Louise,  softly. 

“ Oh,  tell  me  the  truth,  I implore  you  ! All  my  hopes 
in  life  are  centred  in  you.  I chose  you  for  your  gentle  and 
simple  tastes.  Do  not  suffer  yourself  to  be  dazzled, 
Louise,  now  that  you  are  in  the  midst  of  a court  where 
all  that  is  pure  becomes  corrupt,  where  all  that  is  young 
soon  grows  old.  Louise,  close  your  ears,  that  you  may 
not  hear  what  may  be  said  ; shut  your  eyes,  that  you  may 
not  see  the  examples  before  you  ; shut  }7our  lips,  that 
you  may  not  inhale  the  corrupting  influences  about  you. 
Without  falsehood  or  subterfuge,  Louise,  am  I to  believe 
what  Mademoiselle  de  Montalais  stated  ] Louise,  did  you 
come  to  Paris  because  I was  no  longer  at  Blois  ? ” 

La  Valliere  blushed  and  concealed  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

‘‘Yes,  it  was  so,  then,”  exclaimed  Raoul,  enraptured; 
“ that  was  your  reason  for  coming  here.  Oh,  I love 
you  as  I never  yet  loved  you ! Thank  you,  Louise,  for 
this  devotion ; but  measures  must  be  taken  to  place 
you  beyond  all  insult,  to  secure  you  from  every  harm. 
Louise,  a maid  of  honor  in  the  court  of  a young  princess 
in  these  times  of  freedom  of  manners  and  inconstant 
affections,  — a maid  of  honor  is  placed  as  an  object  of 
attack  without  having  any  means  of  defence  afforded  her. 
This  state  of  things  is  not  seemly  for  you ; you  must  be 
married  in  order  to  be  respected.” 

“ Married  ? ” 

“Yes.  There  is  my  hand,  Louise;  will  you  place  your 
hand  within  it  1 ” 

“ But  your  father  ? ” 

“My  father  leaves  me  perfectly  free.” 

“Yet  — ” 

“ I understand  your  scruples,  Louise  ; I will  consult  my 
father.” 


SURPRISE  OF  MADEMOISELLE  DE  MONTALAIS.  399 


“ Oh,  M.  Raoul,  reflect,  wait  ! ” 

u Wait ! it  is  impossible ; reflect,  Louise,  when  you  are 
concerned  ! it  would  be  insulting  to  you.  Give  me  your 
hand,  dear  Louise.  I am  my  own  master.  My  father  will 
consent,  I know.  Give  me  your  hand;  do  not  keep  me 
waiting  thus ! One  word  in  answer,  one  word  only  ; if 
not,  I shall  begin  to  think  that  in  order  to  change  you 
forever  nothing  more  was  needed  than  a single  step  in 
the  palace,  a single  breath  of  favor,  a smile  from  the 
queen,  a single  look  from  the  king.” 

Raoul  had  no  sooner  pronounced  this  last  word  than 
La  Valliere  became  as  pale  as  death,  no  doubt  from  her 
fear  at  seeing  the  young  man  so  roused.  With  a move- 
ment as  rapid  as  thought,  she  placed  both  her  hands  in 
those  of  Raoul,  and  then  fled  without  adding  a syllable, 
disappeared  without  casting  a look  behind  her.  Raoul 
felt  his  whole  frame  tremble  at  the  contact  of  her  hand  ; 
he  received  the  promise  as  a solemn  assurance  wrung  by 
love  from  the  timidity  of  innocence. 


400 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  DRAGELOiNNE. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE  CONSENT  OF  ATHOS. 

Raoul  had  left  the  Palais-Royal  full  of  ideas  which  ad- 
mitted of  no  delay  in  their  execution.  He  mounted  his 
horse  in  the  courtyard,  and  followed  the  road  to  Blois, 
while  the  marriage  festivities  of  Monsieur  and  the  prin- 
cess of  England  were  celebrated  with  great  delight  by 
the  courtiers,  but  to  the  great  despair  of  De  Guiche  and 
Buckingham.  Raoul  lost  no  time  on  the  road,  and  in  six- 
teen hours  arrived  at  Blois.  As  he  travelled  along,  he 
marshalled  his  most  convincing  arguments.  Fever  also  is 
an  argument  that  cannot  be  answered,  and  Raoul  had  an 
attack  of  fever. 

Athos  was  in  his  study,  making  some  additions  to  his 
memoirs,  when  Raoul  entered,  shown  in  by  Grimaud. 
Keen-sighted  and  penetrating,  a mere  glance  at  his  son 
told  him  that  something  extraordinary  had  befallen  him. 

“ You  seem  to  have  come  on  some  matter  of  great  im- 
portance,” said  he  to  Raoul,  after  he  had  embraced  him, 
and  pointing  to  a seat. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  the  young  man  ; “ and  I en- 
treat you  to  give  me  the  same  kind  attention  which  has 
never  yet  been  refused  me.” 

“ Speak,  Raoul ! ” 

“ I present  the  case  to  you,  Monsieur,  free  from  all 
preface,  for  that  would  be  unworthy  of  you.  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Valliere  is  in  Paris  as  one  of  Madame’ s maids 
of  honor.  I have  pondered  deeply  on  the  matter.  I love 


THE  CONSENT  OF  ATHOS. 


401 


Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere  above  everything ; and  it  is 
not  proper  to  leave  her  in  a position  where  her  reputation, 
her  virtue  even,  may  be  exposed.  It  is  my  wish,  there- 
fore, to  marry  her,  Monsieur,  and  I have  come  to  solicit 
your  consent  to  this  marriage.” 

Athos  had  maintained,  during  this  communication,  ab- 
solute silence  and  reserve.  Raoul,  who  had  begun  his 
speech  with  an  assumption  of  self-possession,  finished  it 
by  allowing  manifest  emotion  to  escape  him  at  every 
word. 

Athos  fixed  upon  Bragelonne  a searching  look,  over- 
shadowed indeed  by  a slight  sadness.  “ You  have  con- 
sidered it  well?  ” he  inquired. 

“ Yes,  Monsieur.” 

“ I believe  you  have  already  been  made  acquainted 
with  my  views  respecting  this  alliance'?” 

“ Yes,  Monsieur,”  replied  Raoul,  in  a low  tone  of  voice  ; 
“ but  you  added  that  if  I insisted  — ” 

“You  do  insist,  then'?” 

Bragelonne  stammered  out  an  almost  unintelligible 
assent. 

“Your  passion,”  continued  Athos,  tranquilly,  “must 
indeed  be  very  great,  since,  notwithstanding  my  dislike  to 
this  union,  you  persist  in  desiring  it.” 

Raoul  passed  his  trembling  hand  across  his  forehead  to 
remove  the  perspiration  which  had  collected  there. 

Athos  looked  at  him,  and  his  heart  was  touched  with 
pity  for  him.  He  then  rose,  and  said  : “ It  is  no  matter  5 
my  own  personal  feelings  are  of  no  consequence,  since 
yours  are  concerned.  You  need  my  assistance ; I am 
ready  to  give  it.  Tell  me  what  you  want.” 

“Your  kind  indulgence,  first  of  all,  Monsieur,”  said 
Raoul,  taking  hold  of  his  hand. 

“You  have  mistaken  my  feelings,  Raoul;  I have  more 
vol.  11.  — 26 


402 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


than  mere  indulgence  for  you  in  my  heart,”  replied  the 
count. 

Eaoul  kissed,  as  devotedly  as  a lover  could  have  done, 
the  hand  he  held  in  his  own. 

“Come,  come,”  said  Athos,  “I  am  quite  ready,  Raoul; 
what  do  you  wish  me  to  sign  ? ” 

“Oh,  nothing,  Monsieur,  nothing!  Only  it  would  be 
very  kind  if  you  would  take  the  trouble  to  write  to  the 
king,  to  whom  I belong,  and  solicit  his  Majesty’s  permis- 
sion for  me  to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  la  Vallicre.” 

“Well  thought,  Raoul  ! After  or  rather  before  myself, 
you  have  a master  to  consult,  that  master  being  the  king ; 
it  is  loyal  in  you  to  submit  yourself  voluntarily  to  this 
double  ordeal.  I will  grant  your  request  without  delay, 
Raoul.” 

The  count  approached  the  window,  and  leaning  out 
called  to  Grimaud,  who  showed  his  head  from  an  ar- 
bor covered  with  jasmine,  which  he  was  occupied  in 
trimming. 

“ My  horses,  Grimaud  ! ” continued  the  count. 

“Why  this  order,  Monsieur'?”  inquired  Raoul. 

“We  shall  start  in  two  hours.” 

“Whither?” 

“ For  Paris.” 

“ Paris,  Monsieur  ! you  go  to  Paris  ? ” 

“ Is  not  the  king  at  Paris  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Well,  ought  we  not  to  go  there1?  Have  you  forgotten 
yourself  1 ” 

“Yet,  Monsieur,”  said  Raoul,  almost  alarmed  by  this 
kind  condescension,  “ I do  not  ask  you  to  put  yourself  to 
such  inconvenience  ; and  a letter  merely  — ” 

“ You  mistake  my  position,  Raoul.  It  is  not  respect- 
ful that  a simple  gentleman  such  as  I am  should  write  to 


THE  CONSENT  OF  ATHOS. 


403 


his  sovereign.  I wish  to  speak,  and  I ought  to  speak, 
to  his  Majesty,  and  I will  do  so.  We  will  go  together, 
Raoul.” 

“ You  overpower  me  with  your  kindness,  Monsieur.” 

“ How  do  you  think  his  Majesty  is  affected  1 ” 

“ Towards  me,  Monsieur]” 

44  Yes.” 

44  Excellently  well  disposed.” 

44  Has  he  told  you  so  ] ” 

44  With  his  own  lips.” 

44  On  what  occasion  % ” 

44  Upon  the  recommendation  of  M.  d’Artagnan,  I be- 
lieve, and  on  account  of  an  affair  in  the  Place  de  Greve, 
when  I had  the  honor  to  draw  my  sword  in  the  king’s 
service.  I have  reason  to  believe,  then,  that,  vanity  apart, 
I stand  well  with  his  Majesty.” 

44  So  much  the  better.” 

44  But  I entreat  you,  Monsieur,”  pursued  Raoul,  44  not 
to  maintain  towards  me  this  grave  and  serious  manner. 
Do  not  make  me  regret  having  listened  to  a feeling 
stronger  than  anything  else.” 

44  That  is  the  second  time  you  have  said  so,  Raoul ; it 
was  quite  unnecessary.  You  require  my  formal  consent, 
and  you  have  it.  We  need  talk  no  more  on  the  subject, 
therefore.  Come  and  see  my  new  plantations,  Raoul.” 
The  young  man  knew  very  well  that  after  the  expres- 
sion of  his  father’s  wish,  no  opportunity  of  discussion  was 
left  him.  He  bowed  his  head,  and  followed  his  father 
into  the  garden.  Athos  leisurely  pointed  out  to  him  the 
grafts,  the  cuttings,  and  the  avenues  he  was  planting. 
This  perfect  repose  of  manner  disconcerted  Raoul  more 
and  more ; the  love  with  which  his  own  heart  was  filled 
seemed  so  great  that  the  whole  world  could  hardly  con- 
tain it.  How,  then,  could  his  father’s  heart  remain  void, 


404 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


and  closed  to  its  influence  1 Bragelonne  thereupon, 
collecting  all  his  courage,  suddenly  exclaimed  : “ It  is 
impossible,  Monsieur,  that  you  can  have  any  reason  to 
reject  Mademoiselle  dc  la  Valliere ; she  is  so  good,  so 
sweet,  so  pure,  that  your  mind,  so  perfect  in  its  penetra- 
tion, ought  to  appreciate  her  worth.  In  Heaven’s  name, 
does  any  secret  enmity  or  hereditary  dislike  exist  between 
you  and  her  family  1 ” 

“Look,  Raoul,  at  that  beautiful  lily-of-the- valley,”  said 
Athos ; “ observe  how  the  shade  and  the  damp  situation 
suit  it,  particularly  the  shadow  which  that  sycamore-tree 
casts  over  it,  so  that  the  warmth,  and  not  the  blazing 
heat  of  the  sun,  filters  through  its  drooping  leaves.” 

Raoul  stopped,  bit  his  lips,  and  then,  with  the  blood 
mantling  in  his  face,  said  courageously  : “ One  word  of 
explanation,  I beg,  Monsieur.  You  cannot  forget  that 
your  son  is  a man.” 

“ In  that  case,”  replied  Athos,  drawing  himself  up  with 
sternness,  “ prove  to  me  that  you  are  a man,  for  you  do 
not  show  yourself  to  be  a son.  I begged  you  to  wait  the 
opportunity  of  forming  an  illustrious  alliance.  I should 
have  obtained  a wife  for  you  from  the  first  ranks  of  the 
rich  nobility.  I wished  you  to  be  distinguished  by  the 
splendor  which  glory  and  fortune  confer,  for  nobility  of 
descent  you  have  already.” 

“ Monsieur,”  exclaimed  Raoul,  carried  away  by  a first 
impulse,  “ I was  reproached  the  other  day  for  not  knowing 
who  my  mother  was.” 

Athos  turned  pale  ; then  knitting  his  brows  like  the 
greatest  of  the  heathen  deities,  “ I am  waiting  to  learn 
the  reply  you  made,  Monsieur,”  he  demanded,  in  an 
imperious  manner. 

“ Forgive  me  ! oh,  forgive  me  ! ” murmured  the  young 
man,  sinking  at  once  from  the  lofty  tone  he  had  assumed. 


THE  CONSENT  OF  ATHOS. 


405 


“ What  was  your  reply,  Monsieur  ?”  demanded  the 
count,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  ground. 

“ Monsieur,  my  sword  was  in  my  hand  immediately ; 
he  who  insulted  me  placed  himself  on  guard  ; I struck 
his  sword  over  a palisade,  and  threw  him  after  it.” 

“ And  why  did  n’t  you  kill  him  ? ” 

“ The  king  forbids  duelling,  Monsieur,  and  at  that 
moment  I was  an  ambassador  of  the  king.” 

“Very  well,”  said  Athos;  “but  this  furnishes  a greater 
reason  why  I should  see  his  Majesty.” 

“ What  do  you  intend  to  ask  him,  Monsieur?  ” 

“ For  authority  to  draw  my  sword  against  the  man 
who  has  inflicted  this  injury  upon  me.” 

“Monsieur,  if  I did  not  act  as  I ought  to  have  done, 
I beg  you  to  forgive  me.” 

“ Did  I reproach  you,  Raoul  ? ” 

“ Still,  the  permission  you  are  going  to  ask  from  the 
king  ? ” 

“ I will  implore  his  Majesty  to  sign  your  marriage- 
contract,  but  on  one  condition.” 

“ Are  conditions  necessary  with  me,  Monsieur  ? Com- 
mand, and  you  shall  be  obeyed.” 

“ On  one  condition,”  continued  Athos  : “ that  you  tell 
me  the  name  of  the  man  who  has  spoken  thus  of  — your 
mother.” 

“ But,  Monsieur,  what  need  is  there  that  you  should 
know  his  name  ? The  offence  was  directed  against  myself ; 
and,  the  permission  once  obtained  from  his  Majesty,  to 
revenge  it  is  my  affair.” 

“ His  name,  Monsieur  ? ” 

“ I will  not  allow  you  to  expose  yourself.” 

“ Do  you  take  me  for  a Don  Diego  ? His  name,  I say  ! ” 
“ You  insist  upon  it  ? ” 

“ I demand  it.” 


406 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONME. 


“ The  Vicomte  de  Wardes.” 

“ Very  well/’  said  Athos,  tranquilly ; “ I know  him. 
But  our  horses  are  ready,  I see ; and  instead  of  delaying 
our  departure  for  a couple  of  hours,  we  will  set  off  at 
once.  Come,  Monsieur  ! ” 


MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS. 


407 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS  OF  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM. 

While  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  was  proceeding  on  his  way 
to  Paris,  accompanied  by  Raoul,  the  Palais-Royal  was 
the  theatre  of  a scene  which  Moliere  would  have  called 
excellent  comedy.  Four  days  had  elapsed  since  Mon- 
sieur’s marriage.  Having  breakfasted  very  hurriedly,  he 
passed  into  his  antechamber,  frowning  and  out  of  temper. 
The  repast  had  not  been  over-agreeable.  Madame  had 
had  breakfast  served  in  her  own  apartment,  and  Monsieur 
had  breakfasted  almost  alone;  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 
and  Manicamp  were  the  only  other  persons  present  at  the 
meal,  which  had  lasted  three  quarters  of  an  hour  without 
a single  syllable  having  been  uttered.  Manicamp,  who 
was  less  intimate  with  his  royal  Highness  than  the  Chev- 
alier de  Lorraine,  vainly  endeavored  to  detect,  from  the 
expression  of  the  prince’s  face,  what  had  made  him  so  ill- 
humored.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  who  had  no  occa- 
sion to  speculate  about  anything,  inasmuch  as  he  knew 
all,  ate  his  breakfast  with  that  extraordinary  appetite 
which  the  troubles  of  others  afforded  him,  and  enjoyed 
at  the  same  time  both  the  ill-humor  of  Monsieur  and  the 
perplexity  of  Manicamp.  He  seemed  delighted,  while  he 
went  on  eating,  to  detain  at  table  the  prince,  who  was 
very  impatient  to  move.  Monsieur  at  times  repented 
the  ascendency  which  he  had  permitted  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine  to  acquire  over  him,  and  which  exempted  the 
latter  from  any  observance  of  etiquette  towards  him. 
Monsieur  was  now  in  one  of  those  moods  ; but  he  dreaded 


408 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


as  much  as  he  liked  the  chevalier,  and  contented  himself 
with  raging  inwardly.  Every  now  and  then  Monsieur 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  then  lowered  them  towards 
the  slices  of  pdte  which  the  chevalier  was  attacking ; and 
finally,  not  venturing  to  betray  his  anger,  he  began  a pan- 
tomime which  Harlequin  might  have  admired.  At  last, 
however,  Monsieur  could  control  himself  no  longer,  and 
at  the  dessert,  rising  from  the  table  in  excessive  wrath, 
as  we  have  related,  he  left  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  to 
finish  his  breakfast  as  he  pleased.  Seeing  Monsieur  rise 
from  the  table,  Manicamp  rose  quickly,  napkin  in  hand. 
Monsieur  ran,  rather  than  walked,  towards  the  ante- 
chamber, and  finding  an  usher  there,  gave  him  some  di- 
rections in  a low  voice.  Then,  turning  back  again,  but 
avoiding  the  breakfast-room,  he  passed  through  several 
rooms,  with  the  intention  of  seeking  the  queen-mother  in 
her  oratory,  where  she  usually  remained. 

It  was  about  ten  o’clock  in  the  morning.  Anne  of  Aus- 
tria was  engaged  in  writing  as  Monsieur  entered.  The 
queen-mother  was  extremely  attached  to  her  son,  for  he 
was  handsome  in  person  and  amiable  in  disposition.  He 
was  in  fact  more  affectionate,  and,  so  to  speak,  more 
effeminate  than  the  king.  He  pleased  his  mother  by 
those  trifling  sympathetic  attentions  which  all  women 
like  to  receive.  Anne  of  Austria,  who  would  have  re- 
joiced to  have  had  a daughter,  found  in  this  her  favorite 
son  the  attentions,  solicitude,  and  caressing  manners  of  a 
child  of  twelve.  All  the  time  he  passed  with  his  mother 
he  employed  in  admiring  her  beautiful  arms,  in  giving  his 
opinion  upon  her  cosmetics  and  receipts  for  compounding 
essences,  in  which  she  was  very  particular ; and  then,  too, 
he  kissed  her  hands  and  eyes  in  the  most  endearing  and 
childlike  manner,  and  had  always  some  sweetmeats  to 
offer  her,  or  some  new  style  of  dress  to  recommend. 


MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS. 


409 


Anne  of  Austria  loved  the  king,  or  rather  the  regal 
power  in  her  eldest  son  : Louis  XIV.  represented  legiti- 
macy by  divine  right.  With  the  king  her  character  was 
that  of  the  queen-mother;  with  Philip  she  was  simply  the 
mother.  The  latter  knew  that  of  all  places  of  refuge  a 
mother’s  heart  is  the  most  compassionate  and  the  surest. 
When  quite  a child,  he  had  always  fled  there  for  refuge 
when  storms  arose  between  him  and  his  brother ; often, 
after  having  struck  him,  which  constituted  the  crime  of 
high  treason  on  his  part,  after  certain  engagements  with 
hands  and  nails  in  which  the  king  and  his  rebellious  sub- 
ject indulged  in  their  night-dresses  upon  a disputed  bed, 
having  their  servant  Laporte  as  umpire,  — Philip,  the 
conqueror,  but  terrified  at  his  victory,  used  to  flee  to  his 
mother  to  obtain  reinforcements  from  her,  or  at  least  the 
assurance  of  a forgiveness,  which  Louis  XIV.  granted 
with  difficulty  and  after  an  interval.  Anne,  from  this 
habit  of  peaceful  intervention,  had  succeeded  in  arranging 
the  differences  between  her  sons,  and  in  sharing  at  the 
same  time  all  their  secrets.  The  king,  somewhat  jealous 
of  that  maternal  solicitude  which  was  bestowed  partic- 
ularly upon  his  brother,  felt  disposed  to  show  towards 
his  mother  more  submission  and  attachment  than  his 
character  really  possessed. 

Anne  of  Austria  had  adopted  this  line  of  conduct  espe- 
cially towards  the  young  queen.  In  this  manner  she 
ruled  with  almost  despotic  sway  over  the  royal  house- 
hold ; and  she  was  already  preparing  all  her  batteries 
to  rule  with  the  same  absolute  authority  over  the  house- 
hold of  her  second  son.  Anne  experienced  almost  a 
feeling  of  pride  whenever  she  saw  any  one  enter  her 
apartments  with  woe-begone  looks,  pale  cheeks,  or  red 
eyes,  comprehending  that  assistance  was  required  either 
by  the  weakest  or  by  the  most  rebellious.  She  was 


410 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


writing,  we  have  said,  when  Monsieur  entered  her  ora- 
tory, not  with  red  eyes  or  pale  cheeks,  but  restless,  out 
of  temper,  and  annoyed.  With  an  absent  air  he  kissed 
his  mother’s  arms,  and  sat  down  before  receiving  her  per- 
mission to  do  so.  Considering  the  strict  rules  of  etiquette 
established  at  the  court  of  Anne  of  Austria,  this  forgetfulness 
of  customary  respect  was  a sign  of  preoccupation,  especially 
on  Philip’s  part,  who  of  his  own  accord  observed  towards 
her  a respect  of  a somewhat  exaggerated  character.  If,  there- 
fore, he  so  notoriously  failed  with  regard  to  such  principles 
of  respect,  there  must  surely  be  a serious  cause  for  it. 

“ What  is  the  matter,  Philip  ? ” inquired  Anne  of 
Austria,  turning  towards  her  son. 

“ A great  many  things,”  murmured  the  prince,  dolefully. 

“You  look  like  a man  who  has  a great  deal  to  do,” 
said  the  queen,  laying  down  her  pen.  Philip  frowned, 
but  did  not  reply.  “Among  the  various  subjects  which 
occupy  your  mind,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  “ there  must 
surely  be  one  which  occupies  it  more  than  others.” 

“ Yes,  Madame  ; one  indeed  has  occupied  me  more  than 
any  other.” 

“Well,  what  is  it ? I am  listening.” 

Philip  opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  give  vent  to  all  the 
troubles  which  were  passing  in  his  mind,  and  which 
seemed  only  waiting  for  a point  of  issue  to  burst  forth. 
But  he  suddenly  became  silent,  and  a sigh  alone  expressed 
all  that  his  heart  contained. 

“ Come,  Philip,  show  a little  firmness,”  said  the  queen- 
mother.  “ When  one  has  to  complain  of  anything,  it  is 
generally  an  individual  who  is  the  cause  of  it.  Am  I not 
right  ? ” 

“ I do  not  say  no,  Madame.” 

“Whom  do  you  wish  to  speak  about?  Come,  take 
courage  ! ” 


MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS.  411 

“ In  fact,  Madame,  what  I may  have  to  say  must  be 
kept  a perfect  secret ; for  when  a lady  is  in  the  case  — ” 
“Ah  ! you  wish  to  speak  of  Madame,  then'?”  inquired 
the  queen-mother,  with  a feeling  of  the  liveliest  curiosity. 
“Yes.” 

“ Well,  then,  if  it  is  Madame  you  wish  to  speak  of,  my 
son,  do  not  hesitate.  I am  your  mother,  and  she  is  no 
more  than  a stranger  to  me.  Yet,  as  she  is  my  daughter- 
in-law,  be  assured  that  I shall  be  interested,  even  were  it 
for  your  own  sake  alone,  in  hearing  all  that  you  may  have 
to  say  about  her.” 

“ Pray  tell  me,  Madame,  in  your  turn,  whether  you 
have  not  noticed  something  ? ” 

“Something,  Philip'?  Your  words  have  an  alarming 
vagueness.  What  do  you  mean  by  something  *?  ” 

“ Madame  is  pretty,  certainly.” 

“ No  doubt  of  it.” 

“Yet  not  altogether  beautiful.” 

“ No ; but  as  she  matures  she  may  still  become  very 
strikingly  beautiful.  You  must  have  remarked  the 
change  which  a few  years  have  already  made  in  her. 
Her  beauty  will  improve  more  and  more  ; she  is  now  only 
sixteen  years  of  age.  At  fifteen  I was  myself  very  thin  ; 
but  even  as  she  is  at  present,  Madame  is  very  pretty.” 
“And  consequently  others  may  have  remarked  it.” 

“ Undoubtedly ; for  a woman  of  ordinary  rank  is  ob- 
served, and  with  still  greater  reason  a princess.” 

“ She  has  been  well  brought  up,  I suppose,  Madame  *?  ” 
“ Madame  Henrietta,  her  mother,  is  a woman  some- 
what cold  in  her  manner,  slightly  pretentious,  but  full  of 
noble  thoughts.  The  education  of  the  young  princess 
may  have  been  neglected,  but  her  principles  I believe  to 
be  good.  Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  I formed  of  her 
when  she  resided  in  France ; but  she  afterwards  returned 


412 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


to  England,  and  I am  ignorant  of  what  may  have  occurred 
there.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

“ Simply  that  there  are  some  heads,  naturally  giddy, 
which  are  easily  turned  by  prosperity.” 

“ That  is  the  very  word,  Madame.  I think  the  prin- 
cess rather  giddy.” 

‘‘We  must  not  exaggerate,  Philip.  She  is  clever  and 
witty,  and  has  a certain  amount  of  coquetry  very  natural 
in  a young  woman ; but  this  defect  is,  in  persons  of  high 
rank  and  position,  a great  advantage  at  a court.  A prin- 
cess who  is  tinged  with  coquetry  usually  forms  a bril- 
liant court  around  her  ; her  smile  stimulates  luxury,  and 
arouses  wit  and  courage  even ; the  nobles,  too,  fight  bet- 
ter for  a prince  whose  wife  is  beautiful.” 

“ Thank  you  extremely,  Madame,”  said  Philip,  with 
some  temper ; “ you  really  have  drawn  some  very  alarm- 
ing pictures  for  me,  my  mother.” 

“ In  what  respect  ] ” asked  the  queen,  with  pretended 
simplicity. 

“ You  know,  Madame,”  said  Philip,  dolefully,  “ whether 
I had  or  had  not  a very  great  dislike  to  getting  married.” 
“ Now,  indeed,  you  alarm  me ; you  have  some  serious 
cause  of  complaint  against  Madame  'l  ” 

“I  do  not  precisely  say  it  is  serious.” 

“ In  that  case,  then,  throw  aside  your  present  mournful 
looks.  If  you  show  yourself  in  your  palace  in  your  present 
state,  people  will  take  you  for  a very  unhappy  husband.” 
“ The  fact  is,”  replied  Philip,  “ I am  not  altogether 
satisfied  as  a husband,  and  I shall  be  glad  to  have  others 
know  it.” 

“ For  shame,  Philip  ! ” 

“ Upon  my  word,  Madame,  I will  tell  you  frankly  that 
I do  not  understand  the  life  I am  required  to  lead.” 


MOiNSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS. 


413 


“ Explain  yourself.” 

“ My  wife  does  not  seem  to  belong  to  me  ; she  is  always 
leaving  me  for  one  reason  or  another.  In  the  mornings 
there  are  visits,  correspondence,  and  toilets ; in  the  even- 
ings, balls  and  concerts.’ 7 

“ You  are  jealous,  Philip.” 

“ I ! Heaven  forbid  ! Let  others  act  the  part  of  a jeal- 
ous husband,  — not  I.  But  I am  annoyed.” 

“ Philip,  all  those  things  you  reproach  your  wife  with 
are  perfectly  innocent;  and  so  long  as  you  have  nothing 
of  greater  importance  — ” 

“ Yet  listen!  Without  being  very  blamable,  a woman 
can  excite  a good  deal  of  uneasiness  ; certain  visitors  may 
be  received,  certain  preferences  shown,  which  expose 
young  women  to  remark,  and  which  are  enough  to  drive 
out  of  their  senses  even  those  husbands  who  are  least 
disposed  to  be  jealous.” 

“ Ah  ! now  we  are  coming  to  the  real  point  at  last,  and 
not  without  some  difficulty  too.  You  speak  of  frequent 
visits  and  certain  preferences,  — very  good  ; for  the  last 
hour  we  have  been  beating  about  the  bush,  and  at  last 
you  have  broached  the  real  question.” 

“Well,  yes  — ” 

“ This  is  more  serious  than  I thought.  Is  it  possible, 
then,  that  Madame  can  have  given  you  grounds  for  these 
complaints  against  her  h ” 

“ Precisely  so.” 

“ What ! your  wife,  married  only  four  days  ago,  prefer 
some  other  person  to  yourself'?  Take  care,  Philip  ! You 
exaggerate  your  grievances ; wishing  to  prove,  proves 
nothing.” 

The  prince,  bewildered  by  his  mother’s  serious  manner, 
wished  to  reply,  but  could  only  stammer  out  some  unin- 
telligible words. 


414 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ You  draw  back,  then  ] ” said  Anne  of  Austria.  “ I 
prefer  that,  as  it  is  an  acknowledgment  of  your  mistake.” 

“No,”  exclaimed  Philip,  “I  do  not  draw  back,  and  I 
will  prove  all  that  I asserted.  I spoke  of  preferences  and 
of  visits,  did  I not  1 Well,  listen  ! ” 

Anne  of  Austria  prepared  to  listen  with  that  love  of 
gossip  which  the  best  woman  living  and  the  best  mother, 
were  she  a queen  even,  always  finds  in  being  mixed  up 
with  the  petty  squabbles  of  a household. 

“ Well/’  said  Philip,  “ tell  me  one  thing/’ 

“ What  is  that  ] ” 

“Why  does  my  wife  retain  an  English  court  about 
her]”  and  Philip  crossed  his  arms  and  looked  his  mother 
steadily  in  the  face,  as  if  he  were  convinced  that  she  could 
not  answer  the  question. 

“ For  a very  simple  reason,”  returned  Anne  of  Austria  ; 
“ because  the  English  are  her  countrymen,  because  they 
have  expended  large  sums  in  order  to  accompany  her  to 
France,  and  because  it  would  be  hardly  polite  — not  good 
policy,  certainly  — to  dismiss  abruptly  those  members  of 
the  English  nobility  who  have  not  shrunk  from  any  devo- 
tion or  from  any  sacrifice.” 

“ A wonderful  sacrifice,  indeed,  my  mother,  to  desert  a 
wretched  country  to  come  to  a beautiful  one,  where  a 
greater  effect  can  be  produced  for  one  crown  than  can  be 
procured  elsewhere  for  four ! Extraordinary  devotion, 
really,  to  travel  a hundred  leagues  in  company  with  a 
woman  one  is  in  love  with  ! ” 

“ In  love,  Philip  ! Think  what  you  are  saying ! Who 
is  in  love  with  Madame  ] ” 

“ The  handsome  Duke  of  Buckingham.  Perhaps  you 
will  defend  him  as  well  ] ” 

Anne  of  Austria  blushed  and  smiled  at  the  same  time. 
The  name  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  recalled  certain 


MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS. 


415 


recollections  to  her  of  a tender  and  melancholy  nature. 
“ The  Duke  of  Buckingham  ! ” she  murmured. 

“ Yes ; one  of  those  feather-bed  soldiers,  as  my  grand- 
father Henry  IY.  called  them.” 

“ The  Buckinghams  are  loyal  and  brave,”  said  Anne  of 
Austria,  courageously. 

“ This  is  too  bad ! my  own  mother  takes  the  part  of 
my  wife’s  lover  against  me  ! ” exclaimed  Philip,  incensed 
to  such  an  extent  that  his  weak  organization  was  affected 
almost  to  tears. 

“Philip,  my  son,”  exclaimed  Anne  of  Austria,  “such 
an  expression  is  unworthy  of  you  ! Your  wife  has  no 
lover;  and  had  she  one,  it  would  not  be  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham.  The  members  of  that  family,  I repeat, 
are  loyal  and  discreet,  and  the  laws  of  hospitality  are 
sacred  with  them.” 

“ Eh,  Madame  ! ” cried  Philip ; “ the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham is  an  Englishman,  and  do  the  English  so  very  reli- 
giously respect  what  belongs  to  the  princes  of  France?” 

Anne  blushed  to  her  temples  a second  time,  and  turned 
aside  under  the  pretext  of  taking  her  pen  from  her  desk 
again,  but  really  to  conceal  her  blushes  from  the  eyes  of  her 
son.  “Really,  Philip,”  she  said,  “you  seem  to  discover 
expressions  for  the  purpose  of  embarrassing  me,  and  your 
anger  blinds  you  while  it  alarms  me.  Reflect  a little  ! ” 

“ There  is  no  need  of  reflection,  Madame,  for  I see  with 
my  own  eyes.” 

“ Well,  and  what  do  you  see  ? ” 

“ I see  that  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  never  leaves  my 
wife.  He  presumes  to  make  presents  to  her,  and  she 
dares  to  accept  them.  Yesterday  she  spoke  of  sachets  h 
la  violette  ; well,  our  French  perfumers,  — you  know  very 
well,  Madame,  for  you  have  over  and  over  again  asked  for 
it  without  success,  — our  French  perfumers,  I say,  have 


416 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


never  been  able  to  procure  this  scent.  The  duke,  how- 
ever, wore  about  him  a sachet  a ia  violette  ; and  I am  sure 
that  the  one  my  wife  has,  came  from  him.” 

“Indeed,  Monsieur,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  “you  build 
your  pyramids  upon  needle-points.  Be  careful ! What 
harm,  I ask  you,  can  there  be  in  a man  giving  to  his 
countrywoman  a receipt  for  a new  essence  ? These  strange 
ideas,  I protest,  painfully  recall  to  me  your  father,  who 
so  frequently  and  so  unjustly  made  me  suffer.” 

“The  Duke  of  Buckingham’s  father  was  probably  more 
reserved  and  more  respectful  than  his  son,”  said  Philip, 
thoughtlessly,  not  perceiving  how  rudely  he  touched  his 
mother’s  heart. 

The  queen  turned  pale,  and  pressed  her  hand  nervously 
upon  her  bosom  ; but  recovering  herself  immediately,  she 
said,  “You  came  here  with  a purpose  of  some  kind,  I 
suppose  ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ What  was  it?” 

“ I came,  Madame,  intending  to  complain  energetically, 
and  to  inform  you  that  I will  not  submit  to  anything  from 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham.” 

“ What  do  you  intend  to  do,  then  ? ” 

“ I shall  complain  to  the  king.” 

“ And  what  do  you  expect  the  king  to  reply  ? ” 

“Very  well,  then,”  said  Monsieur,  with  an  expression 
of  stern  determination  on  his  countenance,  which  offered 
a singular  contrast  to  its  usual  gentleness  ; “ very  well, 
I will  right  myself ! ” 

“ What  do  you  call  righting  yourself?  ” inquired  Anne 
of  Austria,  somewhat  alarmed. 

“ I will  have  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  leave  the  prin- 
cess, I will  have  him  quit  France,  and  I will  see  that  my 
wishes  are  intimated  to  him.” 


MONSIEUR  BECOMES  JEALOUS. 


417 


“ You  will  intimate  nothing  of  the  kind,  Philip, ” said 
the  queen  ; “ for  if  you  act  in  that  manner,  and  violate 
hospitality  to  that  extent,  I will  invoke  the  severity  of 
the  king  against  you.” 

“ Do  you  threaten  me,  Madame V9  exclaimed  Philip, 
in  tears;  “do  you  threaten  me  in  the  midst  of  my 
complaints  % ” 

“ I do  not  threaten  you  ; I do  but  place  an  obstacle  in 
the  path  of  your  hasty  anger.  I maintain  that  to  adopt 
towards  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  or  any  other  English- 
man, any  rigorous  measure,  — to  take  even  a discourteous 
step  towards  him,  would  be  to  hurry  France  and  Eng- 
land into  the  saddest  variances.  Can  it  be  possible  that 
a prince  of  the  blood,  the  brother  of  the  King  of  France, 
does  not  know  how  to  hide  an  injury,  even  did  it  exist 
in  reality,  where  political  necessity  requires  it]”  Philip 
made  a movement.  “ Besides,”  continued  the  queen,  “ the 
injury  is  neither  actual  nor  possible,  and  we  are  consid- 
ering merely  a matter  of  absurd  jealousy.” 

“Madame,  I know  what  I know.” 

“ Whatever  you  may  know,  I exhort  you  to  be  patient.” 

“ I am  not  patient  by  disposition,  Madame.” 

The  queen  rose,  full  of  severity,  and  with  an  icy,  cere- 
monious manner.  “ Then  explain  what  you  really  require, 
Monsieur,”  said  she. 

“ I do  not  require  anything,  Madame  ; I simply  express 
what  I desire.  If  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  does  not  of 
his  own  accord  keep  away  from  my  apartments,  I shall 
forbid  him  an  entrance.” 

“ That  is  a question  we  will  refer  to  the  king,”  said 
Anne  of  Austria,  her  heart  swelling  as  she  spoke,  and  her 
voice  trembling  with  emotion. 

“ But,  Madame,”  exclaimed  Philip,  striking  his  hands 
together,  “ act  as  my  mother  and  not  as  the  queen,  since 
vol.  ii. — 27 


418 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


I speak  to  you  as  a son ; it  is  simply  a matter  of  a few 
minutes*  conversation  between  the  duke  and  myself.’* 

“ It  is  that  conversation  which  I forbid,  Monsieur,’*  said 
the  queen,  resuming  her  authority,  “ because  it  is  un- 
worthy of  you.*’ 

“ Be  it  so  : I shall  not  appear  in  the  matter,  but  I shall 
intimate  my  will  to  Madame.” 

“ Oh,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  with  a melancholy  arising 
from  her  recollections,  “ never  tyrannize  over  a wife,  my 
son,  — never  behave  too  imperiously  towards  yours  ! A 
woman  conquered  is  not  always  convinced.” 

“ What  is  to  be  done,  then  1 I will  consult  my  friends 
about  it.” 

“Yes,  your  hypocritical  advisers, — the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine,  your  De  Wardes.  Intrust  the  conduct  of  this 
affair  to  me,  Philip.  You  wish  the  Duke  of  Buckingham 
to  leave,  do  you  not  h ” 

“ As  soon  as  possible,  Madame.** 

“ Send  the  duke  to  me,  then.  Smile  upon  him.  Say 
nothing  to  your  wife,  the  king,  to  any  one.  Polio w no 
advice  but  mine.  Alas  ! I too  well  know  what  a house- 
hold is  which  is  troubled  by  advisers.” 

“You  shall  be  obeyed,  Madame.” 

“ And  you  will  be  satisfied  at  the  result,  Philip.  Send 
the  duke  to  me.” 

“ That  will  not  be  difficult.” 

“ Where  do  you  suppose  him  to  be  'l  ” 

“ Pardieu  ! at  my  wife’s  door,  whose  levee  he  is  probably 
awaiting.  That  is  beyond  doubt.” 

“ Very  well,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  calmly.  “Be  good 
enough  to  tell  the  duke  that  I beg  him  to  come  and  see 
me.” 

Philip  kissed  his  mother’s  hand,  and  set  off  to  find  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham. 


FOREVER  ! 


419 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

FOREVER ! 

The  Duke  of  Buckingham,  obedient  to  the  queen-mother’s 
invitation,  presented  himself  in  her  apartments  half  an 
hour  after  the  departure  of  the  Due  d’Orleans.  When 
his  name  was  announced  by  the  gentleman-usher  in  at- 
tendance, the  queen,  who  was  sitting  with  her  elbows 
resting  on  a table  and  her  head  buried  in  her  hands, 
rose,  and  smilingly  received  the  graceful  and  respectful 
salutation  which  the  duke  addressed  to  her.  Anne  of 
Austria  was  still  beautiful.  It  is  well  known  that  at  her 
then  somewhat  advanced  age,  her  long  auburn  hair,  per- 
fectly formed  hands,  and  bright  ruby  lips  were  still  the 
admiration  of  all  who  saw  her.  On  the  present  occasion, 
abandoned  entirely  to  a remembrance  which  evoked  all 
the  past  in  her  heart,  she  was  as  beautiful  as  in  the  days 
of  her  youth,  when  her  palace  was  open  to  the  visits  of 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham’s  father,  then  a young  and  im- 
passioned man,  as  well  as  an  unfortunate  one,  who  lived 
but  for  her  alone,  and  who  died  with  her  name  upon  his 
lips.  Anne  of  Austria  fixed  upon  Buckingham  a look  so 
tender  that  it  expressed  at  the  same  time  the  kindness 
of  a maternal  affection  and  a certain  something  like  the 
coquetry  of  a woman  who  loves. 

“ Your  Majesty,”  said  Buckingham,  respectfully,  “ de- 
sired to  speak  to  me.” 

“ Yes,  Duke,”  said  the  queen,  in  English;  “will  you 
be  good  enough  to  sit  down  1 ” 


420 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


The  favor  which  Anne  of  Austria  thus  extended  to  the 
young  man,  and  the  welcome  sound  of  the  language  of 
a country  from  which  the  duke  had  been  estranged  since 
his  stay  in  France,  deeply  affected  him.  He  immediately 
conjectured  that  the  queen  had  a request  to  make  of  him. 

After  having  abandoned  the  first  few  moments  to  the 
irrepressible  emotion  she  experienced,  the  queen  resumed 
the  smiling  air  with  which  she  had  received  him.  “ What 
do  you  think  of  France,  Monsieur?”  she  said,  in  French. 

“It  is  a lovely  country,  Madame,”  replied  the  duke. 

“ Have  you  ever  seen  it  before?” 

“ Once  only,  Madame.” 

“ But,  like  all  true  Englishmen,  you  prefer  England  ? ” 

“ I prefer  my  own  native  land  to  France,”  replied  the 
duke;  “but  if  your  Majesty  were  to  ask  me  which  of  the 
two  cities,  London  or  Paris,  I should  prefer  as  a residence, 
I should  reply,  Paris.” 

Anne  of  Austria  observed  the  ardent  tone  in  which 
these  words  were  pronounced.  “ I am  told,  my  Lord,  that 
you  have  rich  possessions  in  your  own  country,  and  that 
you  live  in  a splendid  and  time-honored  palace.” 

“It  was  my  father’s  residence,”  replied  Buckingham, 
casting  down  his  eyes. 

“ Doubtless  it  possesses  great  advantages  and  precious 
remembrances,”  replied  the  queen,  alluding,  in  spite  of  her- 
self, to  recollections  which  were  of  a very  enduring  character. 

“ In  fact,”  said  the  duke,  yielding  to  the  melancholy 
influence  of  this  opening  conversation,  “ sensitive  persons 
live  as  much  in  the  past  or  in  the  future  as  in  the  present.” 

“ That  is  very  true,”  said  the  queen,  in  a low  voice. 
“It  follows,  then,  my  Lord,”  she  added,  “that  you,  who 
are  a man  of  feeling,  will  soon  quit  France  in  order  to 
shut  yourself  up  with  your  wealth  and  your  relics  of  the 
past.” 


FOREVER ! 


421 


Buckingham  raised  his  head  and  said,  “ I think  not, 
Madame.” 

“ What  do  you  mean  ! ” 

“ On  the  contrary,  I think  of  leaving  England  in  order 
to  take  up  my  residence  in  France.” 

It  was  now  Anne  of  Austria’s  turn  to  exhibit  surprise. 
“ Why!  ” she  said.  “ Are  you  not  in  favor  with  the  new 
king  ? ” 

“ Perfectly  so,  Madame,  for  his  Majesty’s  kindness  to 
me  is  unbounded.” 

“ It  cannot  be  because  your  fortune  has  diminished,” 
said  the  queen,  “ for  it  is  said  to  be  considerable.” 
“My  fortune,  Madame,  has  never  been  more  thriving.” 
“ There  is  some  secret  cause,  then ! ” 

“No,  Madame,”  said  Buckingham,  eagerly,  “ there  is 
nothing  secret  in  my  reason  for  this  determination.  I 
like  living  in  France ; I like  a court  so  distinguished  by 
its  refinement  and  courtesy ; I like  those  amusements,  a 
trifle  serious,  which  are  not  the  amusements  of  my  own 
country,  and  which  are  met  with  in  France.” 

Anne  of  Austria  smiled  shrewdly.  “ Amusements  of  a 
serious  nature ! ” she  said.  “ Has  your  Grace  well  con- 
sidered their  seriousness  % ” The  duke  hesitated.  “ There 
is  no  amusement  so  serious/’  continued  the  queen,  “as 
should  prevent  a man  of  your  rank  — ” 

“Your  Majesty  seems  to  insist  greatly  upon  that  point,” 
interrupted  the  duke. 

“ Do  you  think  so,  my  Lord ! ” 

“ If  your  Majesty  will  forgive  me  for  saying  so,  it  is  the 
second  time  you  have  vaunted  the  attractions  of  England 
at  the  expense  of  the  charm  of  living  in  France.” 

Anne  of  Austria  approached  the  young  man,  and  placing 
her  beautiful  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  which  trembled  at 
the  touch,  said : “ Believe  me,  Monsieur,  nothing  can 


422 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


equal  the  charm  of  a residence  in  one’s  own  native  country. 
I have  very  frequently  had  occasion  to  long  for  Spain.  I 
have  lived  long,  my  Lord,  very  long  for  a woman ; and 
I confess  to  you  that  not  a year  has  passed  in  which  I 
have  not  longed  for  Spain.” 

“ Not  one  year,  Madame  2 ” said  the  young  duke,  coldly. 
“ Not  one  of  those  years  when  you  reigned  queen  of  beauty, 
— as  you  still  are,  indeed  2 ” 

“A  truce  to  flattery,  Duke,  for  I am  old  enough  to  be 
your  mother.”  She  emphasized  these  latter  words  in  a 
manner  and  with  a gentleness  which  penetrated  Bucking- 
ham’s heart.  “Yes,”  she  said,  “I  am  old  enough  to  be 
your  mother ; and  for  this  reason  I will  give  you  a word 
of  advice.” 

“ That  advice  being  that  I should  return  to  London  2 ” 
he  exclaimed. 

“Yes,  my  Lord.” 

The  duke  clasped  his  hands  wTith  a terrified  gesture, 
which  could  not  fail  of  its  effect  upon  the  queen,  already 
disposed  to  softer  feelings  by  the  tenderness  of  her  own 
recollections. 

“ It  must  be  so,”  added  the  queen. 

“What!”  he  again  exclaimed,  “am  I seriously  told 
that  I must  leave,  that  I must  exile  myself,  that  1 am 
to  flee  at  once  2 ” 

“Exile  yourself,  did  you  say 2 Why,  my  Lord,  one 
would  fancy  that  France  was  your  native  country.” 

“ Madame,  the  country  of  those  who  love  is  the  coun- 
try of  those  whom  they  love.” 

“ Not  another  word,  my  Lord;  you  forget  whom  you 
are  addressing.” 

Buckingham  threw  himself  on  his  knees.  “ Madame, 
you  are  the  source  of  intelligence,  of  goodness,  and  of  com- 
passion ; you  are  not  only  the  first  person  in  this  kingdom 


FOREVER ! 


423 


by  your  rank,  but  the  first  person  in  the  world  on  account 
of  your  angelic  attributes.  I have  said  nothing,  Madame. 
Have  I,  indeed,  said  anything  to  wThich  you  should  reply 
in  words  so  cruel  1 Can  I have  betrayed  myself?” 

“ You  have  betrayed  yourself, ” said  the  queen,  in  a 
low  voice. 

“ I have  sa^d  nothing,  — I know  nothing/’ 

“ You  forget  you  have  spoken  and  thought  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a woman  ; and  besides — ” 

“ Besides,”  interrupted  the  duke,  eagerly,  “ no  one 
knows  that  you  are  listening  to  me.” 

“ On  the  contrary,  it  is  known,  Duke,  that  you  have 
the  defects  and  the  virtues  of  youth.” 

“ I have  been  betrayed  or  denounced,  then  ? ” 

“ By  whom  ? ” 

“ By  those  who  at  Havre  had,  with  infernal  perspi- 
cacity, read  my  heart  like  an  open  book.” 

“ I do  not  know  whom  you  mean.” 

“ M.  de  Bragelonne,  for  instance.” 

“I  know  the  name  without  being  acquainted  with  the 
person  to  whom  it  belongs.  Ho,  M.  de  Bragelonne  has 
said  nothing.” 

“Who  can  it  be,  then?  If  any  one,  Madame,  had  had 
the  boldness  to  notice  in  me  that  which  I do  not  myself 
wish  to  behold  — ” 

“ What  would  you  do,  Duke  ? ” 

“ There  are  secrets  which  kill  those  who  discover  them.” 
“ He,  then,,  who  has  discovered  your  secret,  madman 
that  you  are,  still  lives  ; and,  what  is  more,  you  will  not 
slay  him,  for  he  is  armed  on  all  sides,  — he  is  a husband, 
a jealous  man,  — he  is  the  second  gentleman  in  France, 
— he  is  my  son,  the  Due  d’Orleans.” 

The  duke  turned  pale  as  death.  “ How  cruel  you  are, 
Madame  ! ” said  he. 


424 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ You  see,  Buckingham,”  said  Anne  of  Austria,  sadly. 
“ how  you  pass  from  one  extreme  to  another,  and  fight 
with  shadows,  when  it  would  seem  so  easy  to  remain  at 
peace  with  yourself.” 

“ If  we  fight,  Madame,  we  die  on  the  field  of  battle,” 
replied  the  young  man  gently,  abandoning  himself  to  the 
most  gloomy  depression. 

Anne  ran  towards  him  and  took  him  by  the  hand. 
“ Villiers,”  she  said,  in  English,  with  a vehemence  of 
tone  which  nothing  could  resist,  “ what  is  it  you  ask  % 
Do  you  ask  a mother  to  sacrifice  her  son,  — a queen  to 
consent  to  the  dishonor  of  her  house  ? Child  that  you 
are,  do  not  think  of  it.  What ! in  order  to  spare  your 
tears,  am  I to  commit  these  two  crimes,  Villiers  ? You 
speak  of  the  dead : the  dead,  at  least,  were  respectful  and 
submissive ; they  resigned  themselves  to  an  order  of  exile ; 
they  carried  their  despair  away  with  them  in  their  hearts, 
like  a priceless  possession,  because  the  despair  was  caused 
by  the  woman  they  loved,  and  because  death,  thus  dis- 
guised, was  like  a gift  or  a favor  conferred  upon  them.” 
Buckingham  rose,  his  features  distorted,  and  his  hands 
pressed  against  his  heart.  “You  are  right,  Madame,” 
he  said ; “ but  those  of  whom  you  speak  had  received 
their  order  of  exile  from  the  lips  of  the  one  whom  they 
loved ; they  were  not  driven  away,  — they  were  entreated 
to  leave,  and  were  not  laughed  at.” 

“ No,”  murmured  Anne  of  Austria,  “ they  were  not  for- 
gotten ! But  who  says  that  you  are  driven  away,  or  that 
you  are  exiled  ? Who  says  that  your  devotion  will  not 
be  remembered  ? I do  not  speak  on  any  one’s  behalf 
but  my  own,  when  I tell  you  to  leave.  Do  me  this  kind- 
ness, — grant  me  this  favor ; let  me  for  this,  also,  be 
indebted  to  one  of  your  name.” 

“ It  is  for  your  sake,  then,  Madame?” 


FOREVER  ! 


425 


“ For  mine  alone.” 

“ There  will  be  no  one  left  behind  me  who  will  venture 
to  mock,  — no  prince,  even,  who  shall  say,  ‘ I required  it’  V9 

“ Listen  to  me,  Duke  ! ” and  hereupon  the  august  fea- 
tures of  the  aged  queen  assumed  a solemn  expression.  “ I 
swear  to  you  that  no  one  commands  in  this  matter  but 
myself.  I swear  to  you  that  not  only  shall  no  one 
either  laugh  or  boast  in  any  way,  but  no  one  even  shall 
fail  in  the  respect  due  to  your  rank.  Rely  upon  me, 
Duke,  as  I rely  upon  you.” 

“ You  do  not  explain  yourself,  Madame ; my  heart  is 
full  of  bitterness,  and  I am  in  utter  despair ; no  consola- 
tion, however  gentle  and  affectionate  it  may  be,  can  afford 
me  relief.” 

“ Do  you  remember  your  mother,  Duke  ] ” replied  the 
queen,  with  a winning  smile. 

“Very  slightly,  Madame;  yet  I remember  how  that 
noble  lady  used  to  cover  me  with  her  caresses  and  her 
tears  whenever  I wept.” 

“ Villiers,”  murmured  the  queen,  passing  her  arm 
round  the  young  man’s  neck,  “look  upon  me  as  your 
mother,  and  believe  that  no  one  shall  ever  make  my  son 
weep.” 

“ I thank  you,  Madame,”  said  the  young  man,  affected 
and  almost  suffocated  by  his  emotion  ; “I  feel  that  there 
is  indeed  still  room  in  my  heart  for  a gentler  and  nobler 
sentiment  than  love.” 

The  queen-mother  gazed  at  him  and  pressed  his  hand. 
“ Go  ! ” she  said. 

“ When  must  I leave  ? Command  me.” 

“Any  time  that  may  suit  you,  my  Lord,”  resumed  the 
queen ; “ you  will  choose  your  own  day  of  departure. 
Instead,  however,  of  setting  off  to-day,  as  you  would 
doubtless  wish  to  do,  or  to-morrow,  as  others  may  have 


426 


THE  YICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


expected,  leave  the  day  after  to-morrow,  in  the  evening , 
but  announce  to-day  that  it  is  your  wish  to  leave.” 

“ My  wish  'l 99  murmured  the  young  man. 

“Yes,  Duke.” 

“ And  — shall  I never  return  to  France  1 ” 

Anne  of  Austria  reflected  for  a moment,  seemingly  ab- 
sorbed in  sad  and  serious  thought.  “ It  would  be  a con- 
solation for  me,”  she  said,  “if  you  were  to  return  on  the 
day  when  I shall  be  carried  to  my  final  resting-place  at 
St.  Denis,  beside  the  king  my  husband.” 

“ Madame,  you  are  goodness  itself.  The  tide  of  pros- 
perity is  setting  in  upon  you  ; your  cup  brims  over  with 
happiness,  and  many  long  years  are  yet  before  you.” 

“ In  that  case  you  will  not  come  for  some  time,  then,” 
said  the  queen,  endeavoring  to  smile. 

“ I shall  not  return,”  said  Buckingham,  sadly,  “ young 
as  I am.  Death,  Madame,  does  not  reckon  by  years,  — it 
is  impartial ; some  die  young,  others  live  on  to  old  age.” 
“ Away  with  gloomy  ideas,  Duke  ! Let  me  comfort 
you.  Return  in  two  years.  I read  in  your  charming  face 
that  the  very  ideas  which  sadden  you  so  much  now  will 
have  disappeared  before  six  months  shall  have  passed,  and 
will  be  all  dead  and  forgotten  in  the  period  of  absence  I 
have  assigned  to  you.” 

“ I think  you  judged  me  better  a little  while  since, 
Madame,”  replied  the  young  man,  “ when  you  said 
that  time  is  powerless  against  members  of  the  family 
of  Buckingham.” 

“ Silence  ! ” said  the  queen,  kissing  the  duke  upon  the 
forehead  with  an  affection  which  she  could  not  restrain. 
“ Go,  go  ! spare  me,  and  forget  yourself  no  longer.  I am 
the  queen.  You  are  the  subject  of  the  King  of  England  ; 
King  Charles  awaits  your  return.  Adieu,  Yilliers,  — 
farewell ! ” 


FOREVER  ! 


427 


“ Forever !”  replied  the  young  man;  and  he  fled,  en- 
deavoring to  master  his  emotion. 

Anne  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hands,  and  then,  look- 
ing at  herself  in  the  glass,  murmured,  “ It  has  been  truly 
said  that  a woman  is  always  young,  and  that  the  age  of 
twenty  years  always  lies  concealed  in  some  secret  corner 
of  the  heart.” 


428 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

KING  LOUIS  XIV.  DOES  NOT  THINK  MADEMOISELLE  DE  LA 
VALLIERE  EITHER  RICH  ENOUGH  OR  PRETTY  ENOUGH 
FOR  A GENTLEMAN  OF  THE  RANK  OF  THE  VICOMTE  DE 
BRAGELONNE. 

Raoul  and  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  reached  Paris  the  even- 
ing of  the  same  day  on  which  Buckingham  had  had  the 
conversation  with  the  queen-mother.  The  count  had 
scarcely  arrived,  when,  through  Raoul,  he  solicited  an 
audience  of  the  king.  His  Majesty  had  passed  a portion 
of  the  day  in  looking  over,  with  Madame  and  the  ladies 
of  the  court,  various  goods  of  Lyons  manufacture  of  which 
he  had  made  his  sister-in-law  a present.  A court  dinner 
had  succeeded,  then  cards ; and  afterwards,  according  to 
his  usual  custom,  the  king,  leaving  the  card-tables  at 
eight  o’clock,  had  passed  into  his  cabinet  in  order  to  work 
with  M.  Colbert  and  M.  Fouquet. 

Raoul  was  in  the  antechamber  when  the  two  ministers 
went  out,  and  the  king,  perceiving  him  through  the  half- 
closed  door,  said,  “ What  does  M.  de  Bragelonne  want  ] ” 
The  young  man  approached.  “ An  audience,  Sire,”  he 
replied,  “ for  the  Comte  de  la  Fere,  who  has  just  arrived 
from  Blois,  and  is  most  anxious  to  have  an  interview  with 
your  Majesty.” 

“ I have  an  hour  to  spare  between  cards  and  my  sup- 
per,” said  the  king.  “ Is  the  Comte  de  la  Fere  ready]” 
“ He  is  below,  and  awaits  your  Majesty’s  commands.” 


THE  KING  DISAPPROVES  THE  MATCH. 


429 


“ Let  him  come  at  once,”  said  the  king;  and  five  min- 
utes afterwards  Athos  entered  the  presence  of  Louis  XIV. 
He  was  received  by  the  king  with  that  gracious  kindness 
of  manner  which  Louis,  with  a tact  beyond  his  years, 
reserved  for  the  purpose  of  gaining  those  men  who  were 
not  to  be  conquered  by  ordinary  favors.  “ Let  me  hope, 
Count,”  said  the  king,  “that  you  have  come  to  ask  me 
for  something.” 

“ I will  not  conceal  from  your  Majesty,”  replied  the 
count,  “ that  I have  indeed  come  for  that  purpose.” 

“ That  is  well,  then,”  said  the  king,  joyously. 

“ It  is  not  for  myself,  Sire.” 

“ So  much  the  worse  ; but  at  least  I will  do  for  your 
'protege  what  you  refuse  to  permit  me  to  do  for  you.” 

“ Your  Majesty  encourages  me.  I have  come  to  speak 
on  behalf  of  the  Vicomte  de  Bragelonne.” 

“It  is  the  same  as  if  you  spoke  on  your  own  behalf, 
Count.” 

“ Hot  altogether  so,  Sire.  That  which  I am  desirous 
of  obtaining  from  your  Majesty  I cannot  obtain  for 
myself.  The  viscount  thinks  of  marrying.” 

“ He  is  still  very  young ; but  that  does  not  matter. 
He  is  an  eminently  distinguished  man.  I will  choose 
a wife  for  him.” 

“ He  has  already  chosen  one,  Sire,  and  only  awaits 
your  Majesty’s  consent.” 

“ It  is  only  a question,  then,  of  signing  the  marriage 
contract  h ” Athos  bowed.  “ Has  he  chosen  a wife  whose 
fortune  and  position  accord  with  your  own  views  ? ” 

Athos  hesitated  for  a moment.  “ His  betrothed  is  of 
good  birth,  but  has  no  fortune.” 

“ That  is  a misfortune  which  we  can  remedy.” 

“You  overwhelm  me  with  gratitude,  Sire:  but  your 
Majesty  will  permit  me  to  offer  a remark  i” 


430 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“ Do  so,  Count.” 

“ Your  Majesty  seems  to  intimate  an  intention  of  giving 
a marriage  portion  to  this  young  girl  ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ I should  regret,  Sire,  if  the  application  I make  your 
Majesty  should  have  that  result.” 

“ No  false  delicacy,  Count ; what  is  the  bride’s  name  *?  ” 
“ Mademoiselle  la  Baume  le  Blanc  de  la  Valliere,”  said 
Athos,  coldly. 

“ Ah ! ” said  the  king,  searching  his  memory,  “ I know 
that  name  ; there  was  a Marquis  de  la  Valliere.” 

“ Yes,  Sire,  it  is  his  daughter.” 

“ But  he  died,  and  his  widow  was  married  again  to 
M.  de  Saint-Remy,  I think,  steward  of  the  dowager 
Madame’s  household.” 

“ Your  Majesty  is  correctly  informed.” 

“ More  than  that,  the  young  lady  has  lately  become 
one  of  the  princess’s  maids  of  honor.” 

“ Your  Majesty  is  better  acquainted  with  her  history 
than  I am.” 

The  king  again  reflected,  and  glancing  at  the  count’s 
anxious  countenance,  said  : “ The  young  lady  does  not 
seem  to  me  to  be  very  pretty,  Count.” 

“ I am  not  quite  sure,”  replied  Athos. 

“ I have  seen  her,  but  she  did  not  strike  me  as  being  so.” 
“She  seems  to  be  a sweet  and  modest  girl,  but  has 
little  beauty,  Sire.” 

“ Beautiful  fair  hair,  however  ? ” 

“ I think  so.” 

“ And  quite  beautiful  blue  eyes'?” 

“ Yes,  Sire.” 

“ With  regard  to  beauty,  then,  the  match  is  but  an 
ordinary  one.  Now  for  the  money  side  of  the  question.” 
“ From  fifteen  to  twenty  thousand  livres’  dowry  at  the 


THE  KING  DISAPPROVES  THE  MATCH. 


431 


very  outside,  Sire.  But  the  lovers  are  disinterested 
enough  ; for  myself,  I care  little  for  money. ” 

“ For  superfluity,  you  mean  ; but  a needful  amount  is 
of  importance.  With  fifteen  thousand  livres,  without 
landed  property,  a woman  cannot  live  at  court.  We  will 
make  up  the  deficiency;  I will  do  it  for  Bragelonne.” 

The  king  again  noticed  the  coldness  with  which  Athos 
received  his  remark. 

“ Let  us  pass  from  the  question  of  money  to  that  of 
rank,”  said  Louis  XI Y.  “ The  daughter  of  the  Marquis 
de  la  Valliere,  that  is  well  enough  ; but  there  is  that  ex- 
cellent Saint-Remy,  who  somewhat  damages  the  family, 
— on  the  women’s  side,  I know,  but  damaging  all  the 
same,  — and  you,  Count,  are  rather  particular,  I believe, 
about  your  own  family.” 

“ Sire,  I no  longer  hold  to  anything  but  my  devotion 
to  your  Majesty.” 

The  king  again  paused.  “ A moment,  Count.  You 
have  surprised  me  in  no  little  degree  from  the  beginning 
of  our  conversation.  You  come  to  ask  me  to  authorize 
a marriage,  and  you  seem  greatly  disturbed  in  having  to 
make  the  request.  Nay,  pardon  me,  Count,  but  I am 
rarely  deceived,  young  as  I am ; for  while  with  some 
persons  I place  my  friendship  at  the  disposal  of  my  un- 
derstanding, with  others  I call  my  distrust  to  my  aid, 
by  which  my  discernment  is  increased.  I repeat  that 
you  do  not  prefer  your  request  as  though  you  wished  it 
success.” 

“ Well,  Sire,  that  is  true.” 
u I do  not  understand  you,  then  ; refuse.” 

“ Nay,  Sire  : I love  Bragelonne  with  my  whole  heart ; 
he  is  smitten  with  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  he  weaves 
dreams  of  bliss  for  the  future  ; I am  not  one  who  is  will- 
ing to  destroy  the  illusions  of  youth.  This  marriage  is 


432 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


objectionable  to  me,  but  I implore  jour  Majesty  to  con- 
sent to  it  forthwith,  and  thus  make  Raoul  happy.” 

“ Tell  me,  Count,  is  she  in  love  with  him  ? ” 

“ If  your  Majesty  requires  me  to  speak  candidly,  I do 
not  believe  in  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere’s  affection.  She 
is  young,  she  is  a child,  she  is  intoxicated  with  joy  ; the 
delight  of  being  at  court,  the  honor  of  being  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Madame,  counteract  in  her  head  whatever  affec- 
tion she  may  have  in  her  heart.  It  is  a marriage  similar 
to  many  others  which  your  Majesty  has  seen  at  court ; 
but  Bragelonne  wishes  it,  and  let  it  be  so.” 

“ And  yet  you  do  not  resemble  those  easy-tempered 
fathers  who  make  slaves  of  themselves  for  their  chil- 
dren,” said  the  king. 

“ Sire,  I am  determined  enough  against  the  viciously 
disposed,  but  not  so  against  men  of  upright  character. 
Raoul  is  suffering,  and  is  in  great  distress  of  mind ; his 
disposition,  naturally  light  and  cheerful,  has  become 
heavy  and  melancholy.  I do  not  wish  to  deprive  your 
Majesty  of  the  services  he  may  be  able  to  render.” 

“ I understand  you,”  said  the  king ; “ and  what  is  more, 
I understand  your  heart,  too,  Count.” 

“ There  is  no  occasion,  therefore,”  replied  the  count, 
“to  tell  your  Majesty  that  my  object  is  to  make  these 
children,  or  rather  Raoul,  happy.” 

“ And  I too,  as  much  as  yourself,  Count,  wish  to  secure 
M.  de  Bragelonne’s  happiness.” 

“ I only  await  your  Majesty’s  signature.  Raoul  will 
have  the  honor  of  presenting  himself  before  you  to  receive 
your  consent.” 

“ You  are  mistaken,  Count,”  said  the  king,  firmly ; “ I 
have  just  said  that  I desire  to  secure  the  viscount’s  hap- 
piness, and  from  the  present  moment,  therefore,  I oppose 
his  marriage.” 


THE  KING  DISAPPROVES  THE  MATCH. 


433 


“ But,  Sire,”  exclaimed  Athos,  “ your  Majesty  has 
promised  ! ” 

“Not  so,  Count;  I did  not  promise  you,  for  it  is  op- 
posed to  my  own  views.’’ 

“ I appreciate  all  your  Majesty’s  considerate  and  gen- 
erous intentions  in  my  behalf ; but  I take  the  liberty 
of  recalling  to  you  that  I undertook  to  approach  your 
Majesty  as  an  ambassador.” 

“ An  ambassador,  Count,  frequently  asks,  but  does  not 
always  obtain  what  he  asks.” 

“But,  Sire,  it  will  be  such  a blow  for  Bragelonne.” 

“ My  hand  shall  deal  the  blow ; I will  speak  to  the 
viscount.” 

“ Love,  Sire,  is  overwhelming  in  its  might.” 

“ Love  can  be  resisted,  Count ; I myself  can  assure  you 
of  that.” 

“When  one  has  the  soul  of  a king,  — your  soul,  Sire.” 

“ Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy  upon  the  subject.  I 
have  certain  views  for  Bragelonne.  I do  not  say  that  he 
shall  not  marry  Mademoiselle  de  la  Valliere,  but  I do  not 
wish  him  to  marry  so  young.  I do  not  wish  him  to 
marry  her  until  she  has  acquired  a fortune  ; and  he,  on 
his  side,  no  less  deserves  my  favor,  such  as  I wish  to  con- 
fer upon  him.  In  a word,  Count,  I wish  them  to  wait.” 

“Yet  once  more,  Sire.” 

“ Monsieur  the  Count,  you  told  me  you  came  to  request 
a favor.” 

“Assuredly,  Sire.” 

“ Grant  me  one,  then,  instead,  — let  us  speak  no  longer 
upon  this  matter.  It  is  probable  that  before  long  war 
may  be  declared;  I require  men  about  me  who  are  un- 
fettered. I should  hesitate  to  send  under  fire  a married 
man  or  a father  of  a family ; I should  hesitate,  also,  on 
Bragelonne’s  account,  to  endow  with  a fortune,  without 

VOL.  IT.  — 28 


434 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


some  sound  reason  for  it,  a young  girl,  a perfect  stranger ; 
such  an  act  would  sow  jealousy  among  my  nobility.” 
Athos  bowed,  and  remained  silent. 

“ Is  that  all  you  had  to  ask  me?  ” added  Louis  XIV. 

“ Absolutely  all,  Sire ; and  I take  my  leave  of  your 
Majesty.  Is  it,  however,  necessary  that  I should  inform 
Baoul  ? ” 

“ Spare  yourself  the  trouble  and  annoyance.  Tell  the 
viscount  that  at  my  levee  to-morrow  morning  I will  speak 
to  him.  I shall  expect  you  this  evening,  Count,  to  join 
my  card-table.” 

“ I am  in  travelling-costume,  Sire.” 

“ A day  will  come,  I hope,  when  you  wTill  leave  me  no 
more.  Before  long,  Count,  the  monarchy  will  be  estab- 
lished in  such  a manner  as  to  enable  me  to  offer  a worthy 
hospitality  to  all  men  of  your  merit.” 

“ Provided,  Sire,  a monarch  reigns  truly  great  in  the 
hearts  of  his  subjects,  the  palace  he  inhabits  matters 
little,  since  he  is  worshipped  in  a temple.” 

With  these  words  Athos  left  the  cabinet,  and  found 
Bragelonne,  who  awaited  his  return. 

“ Well,  Monsieur?”  said  the  young  man. 

“ The  king,  Baoul,  is  wTell  disposed  towards  us  both  ; 
not,  perhaps,  in  the  sense  you  suppose,  but  he  is  kind,  and 
generously  disposed  towards  our  house.” 

“ You  have  bad  news  to  communicate  to  me,  Mon- 
sieur,” said  the  young  man,  turning  very  pale. 

“The  king  will  himself  inform  you  to-morrow  morning 
that  it  is  not  bad  news.” 

“ The  king  has  not  signed,  however  ? ” 

“ The  king  wishes  himself  to  settle  the  terms  of  the 
contract,  Baoul,  and  he  desires  to  make  it  so  grand  that 
he  requires  time  for  it.  Throw  the  blame  rather  on  your 
own  impatience  than  on  the  king’s  good-will.” 


THE  KING  DISAPPROVES  THE  MATCH. 


435 


Raoul,  in  utter  consternation,  because  he  knew  the 
count’s  frankness  as  well  as  his  tact,  remained  plunged  in 
a dull,  heavy  stupor. 

“ Will  you  not  go  with  me  to  my  lodgings  ] ” said 
Athos. 

“1  beg  your  pardon,  Monsieur;  I will  follow  you,” 
Raoul  stammered  out,  following  Athos  down  the  staircase. 

“ Since  T am  here,”  said  Athos,  suddenly,  “ cannot  I 
see  M.  d’Artagnan  'l  ” 

“ Shall  I show  you  to  his  apartment  1 ” said  Bragelonne. 

“Do  so.” 

“ It  is  on  the  other  staircase,  then.” 

They  altered  their  course;  but  as  they  reached  the 
landing  of  the  grand  gallery,  Raoul  perceived  a servant 
in  the  Comte  de  Guiche’s  livery,  who  ran  towards  him  as 
soon  as  he  heard  his  voice. 

“ What  is  it'?”  said  Raoul. 

“ This  note,  Monsieur.  Monsieur  the  Count  heard  of 
your  return,  and  wrote  to  you  without  delay.  I have 
been  seeking  you  for  the  last  hour.” 

Raoul  approached  Athos  as  he  unsealed  the  letter,  say- 
ing, “ With  your  permission,  Monsieur.” 

“ Certainly.” 

Dear  Raoul,  — I have  an  affair  in  hand  which  requires  im- 
mediate attention.  I know  you  have  returned ; come  to  me  as 
soon  as  possible. 

De  Guiche. 

Hardly  had  he  finished  reading  it,  when  a servant  in 
the  livery  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  turning  out  of  the 
gallery,  recognized  Raoul,  and  approached  him  respect- 
fully, saying,  “ From  his  Grace  the  duke.” 

“ Well,  Raoul,  as  I see  you  are  already  as  busy  as  a 
general  of  an  army,  I will  leave  you,  and  will  find  M. 
d’Artagnan  myself.” 


436 


THE  VICOMTE  DE  BRAGELONNE. 


“You  will  excuse  me,  I trust,”  said  Raoul. 

“ Yes,  yes,  I excuse  you.  Adieu,  Raoul ! You  will 
find  me  at  my  apartments  until  to-morrow ; during  the 
day  I may  set  out  for  Blois,  unless  I have  orders  to  the 
contrary.” 

“ I shall  present  my  respects  to  you  to-morrow, 
Monsieur.” 

When  Athos  had  left,  Raoul  opened  Buckingham’s 
letter. 

Monsieur  de  Bragelonne,  — You  are,  of  all  the  French- 
men I have  known,  the  one  with  whom  I am  most  pleased.  I 
am  about  to  put  your  friendship  to  the  proof.  I have  received 
a certain  message,  written  in  very  good  French.  As  I am  an 
Englishman,  I am  afraid  of  not  comprehending  it  very  clearly. 
The  letter  has  a good  name  attached  to  it,  and  that  is  all  I can 
tell  you.  Will  you  be  obliging  enough  to  come  and  see  me, 
for  I am  told  you  have  arrived  from  Blois  ? 

Your  devoted 

V illiers,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

“ I am  going  now  to  see  your  master,”  said  Raoul  to 
De  Guiche’s  servant  as  he  dismissed  him  ; “ and  I shall 
be  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  in  an  hour,”  he  added, 
dismissing  with  these  words  the  duke’s  messenger. 


END  OF  VOL.  II. 


I 


